


Switch

by susurrate



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-26
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2018-05-29 03:54:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 24
Words: 215,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6357958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/susurrate/pseuds/susurrate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While serving detention in the Forbidden Forest, Harry and Draco are attacked by a magical creature who transfers their minds into each other's bodies. Draco, now in Harry's body, inherits the nightmares and visions that the Horcrux inside Harry's body propagates. Will they be able to reverse what has happened to them? What does this mean for the prophecy?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Detention

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: this story has a minor AU element: Takes place in the fall of Hogwarts Year Six, but Draco has not received the Dark Mark or his tasks as he canonically did the previous summer. (Guess what’s coming.)
> 
> I borrow these characters and their world from J.K. Rowling, with love and gratitude in my heart.

**Chapter One: Detention**

Blackness.

Draco held his right palm up, a small flame tickling the edge of his skin as the charm worked to maintain the little light. This was a much more practical technique than the last time he had detention with Potter in the Forbidden Forest back in Year One. Then, he was forced to encumber himself with a heavy, clunky lantern. That thing had been bigger than his head; how could he have properly defended himself and maintained visibility if the need for swift action arose? Of course, Hagrid never thought these things through; and at the time, Draco didn’t know the advanced spells that would provide him with alternatives.

Despite the flame charm, which was not only elegant but freed his wand for any additional casting he may require, the entire forest was just as he remembered.

Blackness.

Draco had always been scared of this place. Not that he’d admit it. But still, there were so many rumours…There were whispers that the Dark Lord himself hid here back in their first year. Who knows what else calls this place a refuge?

“Plan to run screaming like a bitch again, Malfoy?”

Draco snarled at him. “As I recall, you were the idiot who didn’t know when to keep silent—”

“ _I_ couldn’t keep silent?!” 

“—and instead made this massive fuss about your stupid scar and drew the monster’s attention straight at us. Any sane wizard would have run.” Draco scanned Harry derisively. “Case in point.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Please. You still don’t know what really happened that night. It’s so sad.”

“I know what happened that night--you almost got us killed. Going to try for an encore?”

“Let’s just get everything on McGonagall’s stupid list and get out of here.” Harry never thought he’d piss off his Head of House so severely that she’d actually send him to the Forest again. Not when she knew the truth about his last experience in here… “It’d go faster if we split up and were each looking for only some of the stuff on our own,” he suggested.

“Sure,” Draco said as smoothly as he could. “Since it’s your fault we’re in this mess, we’ll split it up 20-80, with you taking all the nasty stuff in the top 80.” Draco smirked as he saw the fury flashing in Potter’s eyes.

“I am not taking eighty percent of our combined detention!”

“Fine. 25-75, my gift to you. But you owe me.” He smiled sweetly over his shoulder at Potter.

“What’s the matter, Malfoy? Scared to go it alone all night? Want me to hold your hand?”

“Fuck you.”

And so they continued on together, searching out the items McGonagall had stabbed across the parchment, splotches of ink sprayed in harassment.

“I can’t even read this. Malfoy, move that light closer.”

Draco puffed up indignantly. He was not sharing his fire charm with Potter on command. “There’s this thing called ‘Lumos’. Even the first years have figured it out. Do it yourself.”

Potter rolled his eyes. “Why are you so bloody difficult? Lumos.” 

“Just because I don’t babysit you like Granger, doesn’t mean I’m difficult.” Draco hated how petulant he sounded at that. Distracted, he stumbled over a risen root. Potter snickered at him before turning to squint at the parchment.

“--What does this even mean?! ‘Esurio tumulus’?” Harry asked, struggling over the Latin. 

“Roughly means ‘the hungry earth’. Quicksand.”

“Why can’t she just write ‘quicksand’…” Harry muttered, irritated and embarrassed. 

“Because despite her unfortunate House affiliations, she’s not a complete plebian,” Draco retorted. 

Harry glared at him. “You are such a stuck up little shit sometimes.”

“Only sometimes?” Draco asked in mock innocence, raising his eyebrows.

Harry ignored him. “How the hell are we supposed to fetch her quicksand?! The minute we remove it, it just becomes sand and water. It’s not quicksand anymore after that. Not really. And how are we supposed to even get it out?! It’s…well, quicksand. Kinda hard to move in it.”

Draco shrugged, a fluid dismissal from one shoulder. “Perhaps if you went and dry-drowned in a patch, she would realize the error of her ways and release me from the burden of figuring it out for the both of us.”

“That’s only in movies.”

“What?”

“You can’t actually submerge fully in quicksand.”

“Who told you that, muggles?” Draco said jokingly. 

Harry glared at him. “Yes,” he said defiantly.

“You’re actually citing ‘muggle expertise’ at me, Potter?!” Draco laughed. “Do you really think the things that muggles teach you will be applicable in the Forbidden Forest?” To his delight, his little fire showed Potter’s face getting red. “That’s right,” Draco said, voice slow and overly accommodating, condescension building thick on every word. “You can’t submerge in quicksand. And centaurs aren’t real. And magic is just pretend.”

“She’s listed twelve items,” Harry ground out. “We find these, we go back, we’re done.”

Draco impatiently held his hand out. “Give it here.”

Potter looked at him curiously and handed the parchment over. Draco read through it carefully; most of it was “team-building exercise” type items. How terribly obvious. He snorted.

“Alright, these are tricky, but with two people they should be doable. I think we should start with the Moss Pilgrims,” Draco said. Harry nodded, grateful that Malfoy knew what the hell that was and was finally willing to cooperate. 

A shriek, followed by a sickening crunch, bloomed in the air. Draco jumped, eyes wide in fear. Harry’s eyes narrowed in focus, trying to figure out where the sound came from.

“Don’t you dare go after it,” Draco whispered, catching the look in Harry’s eye.

“…it sounded like something was hurt—“

“That’s how wild creatures eat or maintain dominance. Let them be.”

A high pitched, desperate keening; a growling, snuffling sound. “It’s definitely hurt,” Harry said, moving towards the sound with his wand out. 

“No! Stop,” Draco grabbed Harry’s cloaked arm and spun the boy to face him. “We aren’t here for them. We have a job to do. C’mon…” Harry jerked his arm out of Draco’s grasp. “You can wait here if you want. I’ll be right back.”

Draco sighed as he watched Potter dash through the stones and shadow, towards the monsters that gave this forest its name. “If I get hurt, you are finding ALL the items yourself,” he muttered as loudly as he dared while pursuing danger. Harry turned around and grinned at him. Draco tried to look pissed off in turn, but couldn’t quite manage it when seeing Potter smile at him like that. It simply took his breath away.

He quickly shook off the strange feeling and concentrated on not getting eaten alive.

* *

“Nox,” Harry whispered. “Get rid of the fire, it’ll see us coming a mile away.”

“It’ll still hear us, with your not-so-stealthy trampling,” Draco muttered but complied. He halted when the light disappeared; he could barely see two feet in front of him. All that existed now were minutely differing shades of black. A small wind blew through the trees, and Draco had to fight the urge to jump at every movement caught in the corners of his eyes.

He couldn’t believe how rapidly Harry could navigate the darkness. Draco was moving as fast as he could, but he was constantly on the lookout to avoid rocks, roots, holes, brambles, burning mist, and fairie rings. Not to mention the random pools of quicksand.

Maybe Harry just didn’t care. It would be just like him to break his ankle and martyr himself.

_Why am I following this pillock again?!_

Something snarled at his feet as he ran past, and Draco’s wand arm twitched back to the sound on pure reflex. _Because if I don’t follow, I’m left alone in the Forest._ The idea had been one of his worst nightmares since that detention in Year One. He did not fancy the idea of willingly fulfilling it.

He forced himself to hurry even further.

He saw Harry stop just up ahead in front of a small clearing. Draco rushed to his side; the edge of the clearing sloped beneath them like a shallow bowl. Near the opposite edge two figures could be seen in the spikes of moonlight that penetrated the clearing. The first, a skinny girl, maybe fourteen, with skin the colour of limes and long golden welts clawed across her body, her left knee broken, trying to drag herself across the forest floor; and the second, a man with the body of a heavyweight wrestling champion covered in tawny fur with black spots, playing with his prey.

“Impedimenta!” Harry cast; but he barely got the first syllable out before the creature had whipped his head around to glare at them. By the end of the curse, he disappeared. Harry’s hex dissolved into the grass where the creature had been seconds before.

“What the—” Harry stopped short. 

The creature reappeared instantly about a foot away from its original spot, still guarding its prize. It stood seven feet tall, and had the head of a hyena. It bore its fangs and growled, a viscous gold fluid oozing from around its jaws. The same substance was leaking from the victim’s leg and cuts.

Draco was the first to recover. “Stupefy!” But the creature disappeared again.

“How is it doing that!? You can’t Apparate on Hogwarts grounds!” Harry snarled.

“We can’t,” Draco grimaced. “But house-elves can. And so can this thing.”

It reappeared and disappeared in rapid succession three times in random spots throughout the clearing, taunting them, testing them, gauging their reactions. Draco and Harry shot multiple curses at it, each failing their mark.

Draco was scanning the clearing for where it might next reappear. “That thing’s faster than a snitch!” 

Harry stole a glance at Draco. “Bet I curse it before you.”

Draco looked back at Harry, and saw him smiling with recklessness and joy. He was suddenly grinning back. “You’re on.”

“Watch out!” the girl—the boy?—the green youth on the ground screamed at them.

The hyena-man reappeared behind them and lunged forward, claws slashing across Draco’s back. “No!” Harry screamed. The Slytherin stumbled partially down the slope from the force and pain, voice caught in his throat from shock. He quickly turned to face the onslaught, wand out and shaking from adrenaline and fear. Harry cast the blasting curse, but it dodged neatly aside. It pivoted to face Harry, and both Draco and Harry tried to hex it but it disappeared. It reappeared almost nose-to-nose with Harry and grabbed him by the throat before he could react. It pinned Harry to a tree by his throat and squeezed, laughing in that disturbingly other-worldly way hyenas have. Harry felt his vision swimming when he heard “Incarcerous!” The hand suddenly released him, and the creature was completely bound and fallen to the ground. It disappeared, leaving the conjured ropes limp in the grass.

Harry was gasping for breath. He looked up at Draco and whispered, “Good shot.”

Draco prickled at this. _Good shot, except for the part where it was useless and now the thing got away._ “Fuck you, it should have bound his magic as well as his limbs--”

“No, I meant it,” Harry croaked quickly, his voice box bruised. “You were fast.”

Draco huffed. Speed and aim meant nothing when you chose the wrong spell. Draco cursed himself for screwing it up.

The hyena-man reappeared laying flat to the ground behind Draco, grabbed the boy’s ankle and jerked it back. Draco fell face first, barely breaking his fall with his hands in time. The beast, laughing manically, reared over him with both arms brought up to slash down and maul when Harry cast “Furnunculus!” At the same time, Draco twisted around and cast “Diffindo!”

Both curses hit, and the creature howled as crimson pussing boils billowed over its skin and long welts ripped across its muzzle. 

As fast as thought, the hyena-man disappeared and reappeared in mid-leap at a right angle to Harry, its powerful jaws snapping tight on his wand-arm. Draco scrambled to his feet. Harry screamed, and the beast shook its head like a dog until –crack!– his wrist gave way and Harry dropped his wand. It released Harry gleefully, wanting a fresh attack now that its victim was unarmed. “Reducto!” Draco yelled, but the creature had disappeared before Draco finished the word. Immediately, it reappeared behind the helpless Gryffindor who was frantically scanning the dark forest ground for his wand. 

Draco swallowed hard and forced himself to wait. The only times they ever hit this thing was when it was occupied by captured prey. It won’t exert a killing strike yet—it enjoyed playing. Draco didn’t have to wait long; the monster lunged forward and sunk its teeth into Harry’s shoulder. The boy screamed and fell to his knees; the beast stayed locked on him. _Careful; if you freeze him, it will hurt Potter more to separate them. If you wound him, he’ll disappear again…_ “Confundus!” Draco cast on the hybrid. It slowly raised its head, licking its bloody lips thoughtfully, eyes glazed and puzzled. “Petrificus Totalus!” The creature froze and toppled to the ground.

Seeing his wand, Harry snatched it and forced himself to his feet, stepping away from the monster. “You saw it, why didn’t you warn me?!” Harry growled in pain and anger. He gingerly touched the fingers of his uninjured hand to the shoulder wound. He’d been a fool to believe they could work together, even for a moment. 

Draco walked towards him. “Because it would have disappeared. Let me see,” he nodded at Harry’s shoulder.

“No.” Harry said stubbornly, covering it a little more.

“Is it dead?” Came a warbly voice from the clearing. Both students turned to look at the green teenager.

“No,” Draco called back. “But it’s safely incapacitated. We’ll come help you in a moment…” Then in a lower voice to Harry, he said, “C’mon. Let’s just heal each other quickly and help her.”

“I can do it myself. If you can’t, that’s your problem,” Harry retorted. That fucker used him, used him as bait. Harry hoped his back was shredded and filled him with sheer agony, and that the wounds were already infected and would torment him for months, leaving him hideous and in pain, the stench of infection so great that he lost all his friends and Pansy Parkinson dumped his sorry ass--

Harry fumbled with his wand in his non-dominant hand. He thought about how it was impossible for him to write properly with his left hand, and hoped it wasn’t the same for magic. He had a flashback to the consequences of Lockhart’s incompetence, but his pride made him brush the memory aside. He awkwardly aimed his wand at his right wrist. “Episkey!” But instead of reforming the bone in alignment, it grew outwards and punctured out of his skin. Harry nearly fainted.

“Reparifors!” Draco cast quickly. The bone reversed back into its original broken condition, the skin smooth once more. Harry cradled his hand against his chest protectively. He was actually queasy from the pain, and it took all his willpower not to mewl from the hurt shooting and throbbing in his arm. He glared hatefully at Malfoy.

Draco sighed in frustration. “Look. If we kept fighting it for much longer, it was going to win. I had to strike while it still wanted to play with us, and not when it wanted us dead.” He took a step closer to Harry and held out his hand. “Give me your arm.”

Reluctantly, Harry held out his arm. His eyes were full of the contempt and suspicion of a cat who had been sprayed with water. Draco held Harry’s arm still, and carefully chose the best point to aim for. “Brackium redintegro,” he said clearly. Snap! Snap! Harry gasped as he felt the bones in his arm twang back into alignment and fuse together seamlessly. He was impressed. Draco, pleased with his work, smiled smugly. “Now that you’ve got your wand arm back, kindly fix my back. And don’t use Episkey, it’s too general and will likely leave scars.” Draco unclasped his cloak and uncharacteristically let it fall to the ground. _His back must be a lot more painful than he’s letting on if he’s not freaking out over his stupid, rich clothes._ Harry began feeling immensely guilty for his earlier line of thoughts. 

The Slytherin stripped off his shirt, his shoulder movements limited and carefully keeping the fabric from brushing his skin. His face remained neutral despite his actions.

Harry stepped around to examine and saw four gashes, one moderate and the other three deep gouges of exposed meat. “Jesus, Malfoy,” Harry muttered. “I can’t believe you’re not making a bigger fuss about these…”

Draco gave a short laugh. “I only make a fuss if I think it’ll get me something. Hurry up.”

Harry wasn’t sure what to make of that, but felt his anger melting away. “If you don’t want me to use Episkey, what should I use?”

“Oh, for the sake of the gods Potter…” Draco swore and turned back to face him. “Okay,” he said more patiently, raising his wand to chest level and pointed at the sky. “Straight up, then slowly angle down to your target’s beginning,” Draco began, demonstrating the wand movement as he explained. Harry copied him. “Draw along the lines as you recite Vulnera Sanentur.”

“Okay…Vulnera Sanentur…”

“No. _Vulnera Sanentur._ You need to half-sing it or it won’t work.”

Harry smiled, remembering Hermione correcting Ron’s levitation spell in Year One and thinking how similar this moment was. He felt horribly self-conscious but sang it. 

“Good. You might have to repeat it if it’s as bad as it feels,” Draco said with a self-deprecating smirk. “Or if you fuck it up,” he added. Harry made a face at him. Draco clamped down on his nervousness and doubt, and instead offered his back freely to Harry. 

He refused to be in pain when it could be fixed.

Harry moved as instructed, and cast the spell. Harry was fascinated to watch webs of new pale skin criss cross over the claw marks, knitting together the wounds. When the movement ceased but the wounds still looked angry, Harry cast again. This time they sealed completely, the boy’s back appearing unmarred. Draco sighed in relief and knelt to pick up his shirt and cloak. He scowled at the dirt and cast a general cleaning charm, a sanitizing charm, a charm to reject any insects that may have crawled on, a charm to alter its smell, a charm to smooth out the wrinkles, and finally _reparo_ to mend the slash marks. Harry snorted as Draco’s prissiness returned full blast.

“Mind healing my shoulder now?” Harry drawled.

Draco flushed. He had almost forgotten.

“Well then, undo your shirt.”

Harry opened enough buttons to pull the shirt off his shoulder. Draco winced when he saw it. Dark purple bruising clamped around the main muscle, swollen and consuming. There were four puncture wounds—not neat breaks in the skin, but a set of dull, crushing obtrusions.

 _I will not feel guilty,_ he chanted silently to himself. _I will not. This may be my fault, but worse fates would have been my fault if I’d shied away from the opportunity to stop that creature. I will not feel guilty for doing what had to be done. I won’t._

Draco cast several layers of spells to heal him, perhaps spending more time than necessary making sure to banish pain and weariness. Wordlessly, he began to work on the bruising around Potter’s neck, bright purple spots where fingers choked him. He hesitated when he came to the mark that most damaged his voicebox. “I…don’t feel comfortable trying to heal this,” he said bluntly. “I’m not trained, and the voice is much more complicated than a broken bone. Can you wait for McGonagall to fix it?” 

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, surprised at Draco’s care. His shoulder felt like new. He wondered briefly if Malfoy had any interest in becoming a Healer. “Thanks,” he added.

Draco rolled his eyes. “Let’s go,” he said, motioning towards the green youth waiting for them.

Harry looked back at the fallen hyena-man. It was stock frozen, like a toy soldier, but its eyes bore furiously, unblinkingly, into Draco. “What about him?”

Draco glanced at the creature and involuntarily shivered. “What about it?” He asked gruffly.

Harry looked up at Draco. “…are we just going to leave him there? He’s completely vulnerable. What if something comes after him? It seems….unsporting, somehow.”

Draco laughed. “You’re actually serious, aren’t you?” He murmured incredulously. _Damn bleeding-heart Gryffindor._ And yet there was something charming about his sense of honour extending to his enemy… “Look. The spell wears off after a few hours. Until then, the stars will decide what protection it deserves.”

“That’s not good enough. Mobilicorpus,” Harry cast. The frozen hybrid jerkily rose in the air. Harry floated it to nestle high in the trees, its body cradled by thick branches.

“There. Out of reach of most predators. And it doesn’t matter if he can’t climb, because he’ll just disappear his way to where ever he wants to be.”

“Next you’ll be conjuring a blanket in case it gets a chill…” Draco joked.

Harry grinned at him and silently cast a spell to clean the blood off his shirt as he retorted, “Better than you conjuring one. We’d be here half the night with you attempting to recreate some elite design, and casting eight million charms to make it—I don’t know, sparkle, or smell good, or whatever it is you do.”

Draco shot him a cocky grin. “You think I smell good, Potter?”

Harry laughed. “No, *you* think you smell good. I swear, you’re more vain than Lockhart.” He started walking down the slope, Draco following alongside him.

“It’s not vanity when the world thinks I’m beautiful,” Draco said matter of factly. “And really, who am I to fly in the face of public opinion?”

“Are you honestly that conceited?” Harry couldn’t help asking.

“I think the word you’re looking for is ‘realistic’.”

“Um, no, it’s really not. More like ‘deluded’.”

They bickered until they approached the youth.

He—no, wait, definitely ‘she’—laid still on her belly, her left knee at a horrible angle. “My heroes,” she beamed at them despite the pain in her eyes. “I can’t believe someone actually came for me…”

“I’m glad we heard you,” Harry said solemnly. “Um…what are you? I mean, would human healing spells work for you?” 

She—oh, damnit, now he distinctly looked like a boy—he shook his head. “No, they wouldn’t. I’m a dryad. The best way to heal me is to get me back to my tree.”

“Where’s that?” Draco asked. Harry was still stuck on ‘dryad’.

“Nearby,” he said. “About a wind-rattle east.” 

Draco nodded. ‘East’ and ‘nearby’ would have to suffice; he had no idea how far ‘wind-rattle’ meant. He glanced at Potter and saw the same furrowed, blank look the boy usually had in Potions. 

Harry turned to look at Draco with exaggerated expectancy. Draco saw this, and muttered, “What, you want me to translate?! I don’t know.”

Harry sighed. “Okay, we’ll get you there,” Harry reassured the dryad. 

Ignoring Harry entirely, Draco asked the boy, “What pronoun do you prefer?”

“Malfoy!” Harry sputtered. “You can’t just ask someone--”

“It’s alright,” the boy defended. He turned his face back to Draco and answered, “I shift, and so can the pronouns. Use whatever you feel reflects me in the moment you’re talking about me.”

Draco nodded. “Fair enough,” he said. “I’m going to levitate you, and we’ll need your help with directions,” he explained as he extended his wand arm. The dryad smiled, trusting so completely. It irritated Draco a little; any time a stranger raises a weapon to you, is a time for readiness. He cast the charm, and in his free right hand cast the little fire ball again. 

“We begin through there,” the youth flicked her finger and an assortment of dried leaves rose from the ground and scuttled in the air between two trees, vaguely eastbound.

“I’ll go ahead, in case there’s trouble,” Harry offered.

“If by ‘trouble’ you mean anything that directly affects us, and not searching for things to confront…then okay.” 

The youth preened at Draco. “You are a true leader, taking command and teaching him all the while…”

Harry’s jaw dropped. Draco beamed. “You hear that Potter? I’m your leader!”

“You are not even remotely my leader!” Harry blustered. “You didn’t even want to rescue her in the first place!” The dryad looked confused.

“Look what you’ve done,” Draco admonished. “Are you really so petty that you would destroy her confidence in us just to satisfy your ego?”

As Harry looked over at the dryad, his outrage dwindled and he grew embarrassed. “I…didn’t think of it that way.”

“Great. Now apologize to her, and apologize to your leader.”

It was a grueling hour before they reached the tree. The dryad smiled at both wizards, tired but happy. “I thank you, not only for your brave heroics in saving me from the Gnoll, not only for securing my safe transport home, but for your clever antics to bring me cheer and distraction from my pain.” 

Harry felt warm for having helped, and mildly embarrassed to be given such gratitude for saving her, because he viewed it as something he couldn’t have not done. Greater embarrassment roiled within him for the comment about his constant arguing with Malfoy. He should have done better, forced himself to be more civil. Somehow. Draco, on the other hand, had never in his life been called a hero. The sincerity of the dryad was something he tucked away in a private corner of his heart, and he thought to himself that he would need to consider vialing the night’s memories for a pensieve.  
Draco gently lowered the woodland nymph against the trunk of his tree. The dryad’s smile broadened, his whole face relaxing as the tree began to absorb her into it. “I’ll never forget you,” she cooed, voice sounding like sap gliding through the grooves of bark. Her skin flattened from lime green to the dry mottled brown of the tree, and she—he—looked so at peace. With only his face remaining, like an oversized knot in the trunk, he suddenly looked horribly alarmed. “No! Watch—” and he was gone.

Before either wizard could react, first Draco then Harry felt fangs strike their ankles. 

* *

Draco fell to his knees, hard. He felt the pressure of his landing but not the pain; his vision blurred and there was a terrible ringing in his ears. He could vaguely hear the distorted sound of his own name – Potter calling out to him. Dizziness like a tidal wave roared and swallowed him, and he closed his eyes. 

Harry felt the shrieking numbness overtaking his body; like Novocain at the dentist, he knew there was pain, but the non-feeling was so bold that he felt swollen all over. He saw Draco fall to his knees, and the sight injected severe vertigo into him. “Malfoy!” he yelled, surprised to barely hear himself. He closed his eyes, battling the visions of a swirling world. When he heard no response, he dared to crack his eyes open for a flash. The Slytherin was still kneeling. 

Draco tried to harness his panic into remembering what type of venoms could cause the symptoms he was experiencing. But—he found that every time he tried to reach for the rote memories…he couldn’t. It was like the memories stood stacked on a table just out of reach…and he could see them, he knew they were there…but he just…couldn’t…reach them. Confusion flooded him, and slowly the panic began to ease back into calm as his mind found it difficult to hold any thought or emotion still for long.

Harry realized he was still gripping his wand. He took a deep breath and raised his wand high to send red sparks…But the moment he tried to cast, it was like the sparks flew inward instead, and the electricity burned through the numbness. Harry screamed and stumbled, the dizziness overpowering him as he fell to the forest floor. He could feel his mind begin to blank. _No._ Harry grit his teeth, and blindly reached out, seeking Draco. 

Draco concentrated on his breathing, trying to diffuse the vertigo. He had his wand. Best not to use it when the mind is affected. Or…or something happened. Inhale. The thing that bit him…where was it? He opened his eyes, and through the stubby grass, lay a black serpent with white eyes and a white tail-tip. It was staring at them. Exhale. “Potter?” he said, weak and shakey. A half formed thought…he could almost taste it. He closed his eyes. “Potter…” he said a little stronger. With great mental exertion, he clasped the idea in a single word. He whispered, “Parseltongue.” Weariness bore through him, and he slumped down in the grass. He lost consciousness.

Harry heard Draco’s voice, but couldn’t make out what he was saying. He reached toward the sound, flashed open his eyes for a moment, and then found the boy’s arm. He felt a sick, lurching sensation in his stomach, almost kin to the feeling of apparition…the world twirled around him, and he felt faint. My fault. He didn’t know if the poison was deadly, but he damn well knew the forest was. Without magic, without escape, Harry did the last thing he could to try and protect Malfoy, as amends for failing him when he had begged to just do their detention like they were supposed to: he laid on top of the boy, covering as much of his body with his own as he could in his delirium. He opened his eyes once more, and saw a white snake with black eyes and a black tail-tip staring at them from the grass. Fuck you too, Harry thought as the world slipped away.

The dryad, healing, could not emerge from her tree, and watched as her saviours were stricken down by the Switch. She whistled, a sound like the dry rustle of leaves, and waited for the spiders. She would tell them what happened, and beg for intervention, for she knew the spiders kept close alliance with the Grounds Keeper. If they could send a message to him, if they could lead him here…

She watched as the dark haired boy protected his leader with his own body. She hoped there would be no death tonight. The Switch watched its prey lose consciousness, as it inverted black into white across its scales.

It was done.


	2. A Brand New Day

Draco woke up in a hospital bed. Disoriented, he tried to remember how he got there, but couldn’t. He sat up and at noticing how blurry his vision remained, rubbed his eyes vigorously. His sight did not clear. His ankle throbbed, and he sleepily gave an unintentional moan. His eyes snapped open at the sound of his own voice, for it was not his voice. He looked down at himself: Gryffindor uniform. With growing shock, he looked to the bed next to him—

—and saw his body, still unconscious. 

_What…_ His pulse started racing. He stood up—balance, slightly different, carried more in the pads of the feet than the heels—he went to the small medic mirror above the wash basin, and Harry’s eyes confronted him.

_This can’t be._ He rushed back to his bed, and put on Harry’s glasses. His sight clicked into focus. _Fuck._ He spun to look at his body, laying peaceful and unknowing in its bed. 

_I’m in Harry’s body._ The thought squirmed in his mind. He stared into his hands: heavily calloused, lower-class hands. Skin tanned, nails bitten and ragged, a strange scar carved into the left: “I must not tell lies”. _Potter has some serious issues._

The last thing he remembered was being bitten, and passing out in the Forest. _How did we get here? How long have I been unconscious?_ He ran the back of his hand along the edge of the hospital bed, and warm orange writing told him it was early morning the next day. _Which means….it’s likely that no one knows exactly what’s happened._ With a feral grin, Draco put Harry’s shoes back on, and strut out of the hospital wing. 

_Time to visit Gryffindor House._

* *

Unfortunately, the Fat Lady wasn’t nearly as helpful to Potter’s celebrity as Draco had imagined. He tried again for a charming grin, unsure how it looked on his new face, and said, “Malfoy hit me with a Confundus. Madam Pomfrey only just released me, but I’m embarrassed to say that I don’t remember the password. I’m so exhausted, could you please…?” 

She raised a delicate eyebrow and pursed her lips. “I am not still drying, you know. I have been in this castle long enough to know a thing or two about student tricks. The Polyjuice potion, for example…” 

Draco reminded himself to remain patient, and kindly said to her, “My lady, were you to do this favour for me, I would return it. I believe it’s been an age since Filch has polished your framework. Wouldn’t it feel nice to be given a deep clean, to enhance your beautiful self…?”  
She snorted and laughed merrily. “You are not Harry Potter.”

Before Draco could argue, two fifth year Gryffindor girls opened the portrait while exiting and, seeing “Harry Potter”, giggled and held it open for him. With a triumphant gleam in his eye, he thanked them and entered, the Fat Lady steaming behind him.

He stood inside the Gryffindor common room, and was instantly nervous. Everything was…so loud. There was constant bustle over games, last minute homework revision, or pre-breakfast chatter. 

“ _There_ you are!” Hermione said, hugging him. Draco’s shoulders went rigid, and he had to force himself to give her a pat on the back in return. He only let very select people touch him; Hermione Granger was never meant to be on that list. “You promised you’d use your button when you finished detention!” 

_An alert mechanism? Hm…_

“I’ve been worried sick! I can’t believe you’re only just getting in now. What happened?” 

Draco did not have the time or the inclination to bother with Hermione. “Gee, Hermione,” he said in his best impersonation of regretful-Potter. “I’m really tired. I just wanna go to my dorm and get a change of clothes, yah? We’ll talk more later.” Pausing a moment, he added with syrupy sincerity, “I promise.”

She was giving him the fish eye. Why did no one believe his Potter impressions?! That’s _exactly_ how the git sounded all the time.

Draco glanced about the commons for the downstairs entrances, and realized that Gryffin-dorms went upstairs instead. _Of course they did. Prats._ Taking a gamble that the boys dorms were on the left like in Slytherin, Draco strutted towards the staircase. As he was able to walk up, he breathed a sigh of relief. At least the stairs didn’t turn into solid wall when the wrong sex tried to—

“Harry, is everything alright?”

Draco yelped and leapt in the air, spinning around to see that Hermione had followed him. Followed him! Up the boys stairs! _Well, well…Godric, you wicked man._ Salazaar had prevented either sex to enter the opposite dorms, to prevent the making of bastards. Clearly, Godric had other inclinations.

“Uh…yeah. You just startled me.”

“I mean, in general. You seem…off.”

Draco gave a slow, languid smile. An idea occurred to him: how to get rid of her, and how to make Potter’s life oh-so-much more difficult. “You caught me, Hermione. I can’t hold it in any longer.”

“Hold what in?” She asked, concern in her eyes.

Draco took a step down so he shared the stones with Hermione. “I’m in love with you,” he said in a low, husky voice, and was pleased to discover that Harry could do a very sexy husky voice.

Hermione, shrewd, worried, was searching his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she whispered. “Just tell me what’s really wrong.”

“Love isn’t wrong,” Draco said, thrilling at her confusion and pain. 

“Harry…don’t. You know I don’t feel that way—and you can’t feel that way—”

“Why not?” He moved closer to her. She backed away from him.

“You know how I feel…about…you know.” She finished lamely.

_I knew it, she’s still lovestruck over Viktor._ “Forget about what’s-his-name,” Draco said, hedging his bets.

“He’s your best friend!” She said hotly.

_Ahh. The Weasel. Damn, she’s aiming low._ “Yes well…I’m sure he would understand. You know he’ll never love you like I do.” _If I really want to drive her away…_ “Come on, Hermione,” _…I’ll have to resort to a Gryffindor big dramatic gesture…_ “--Say you’ll give ‘us’ a chance.” And like a striking serpent, he leaned forward and kissed her.

She pulled away and pushed him. He stumbled on the stair at his heels and barely caught himself before falling. “Don’t you dare do that again! I can’t believe, you’d risk our friendship…Ron’s friendship…everything we’ve…oh, Harry, what have you done…?” With tears in her eyes, she fled the hall. 

Draco wiped his mouth with his sleeve. Despite having just kissed a mudblood, and a straight-girl for that matter, that had been delightfully fun. 

_Now to go search through Potter’s things._

When Draco entered the Sixth Year boys dorms, he was surprised at the communal feel of the room. The beds were sectioned off by scarlet curtains, their mattress space the only privacy afforded to each student. Slytherin would have rioted at these conditions. How were you supposed to have alone time? How were your things safe and sacred? Every boy’s trunks were openly displayed at the foot or sides of each bed, for anyone to look at. It was obscene. Draco also wondered if the House Elves had something against Gryffindor House; the beds were still a mess. In Slytherin, elves Apparated to make your bed the instant your feet hit the floor. There was only one neatly made bed—a bed that had not been slept in. Grinning, Draco began to saunter over to it, correctly assuming it must be Harry’s.

“Oi! ‘Arry!” Ron called out to him, his mouth wrapped around a toothbrush and foaming. Draco had to resist the urge to comment on how many of his family members had handed down that instrument before he finally got to use it. 

“Hey Ron,” he answered, smiling at the boy while casually flipping open Potter’s trunk. It was like a deranged Niffler had a hard-on for garbage. Tossing some crumpled parchment and chocolate frog cards to the floor, Draco carefully removed a chunk of broken glass. _Why on earth was he keeping this?!_ He set it aside. There was a grimy, grey sock that looked like it could fit his head, black stitched initials reading “D.D.” on the elasticized hem. It was so repulsive that he wondered if it was a Portkey. He decided not to touch it.

“What happened last night?! Hermione nearly had kittens.” Ron had finished brushing his teeth and invited himself over, plopping down onto Harry’s bed. Draco suppressed a sneer.

“Oh, I had to go save something helpless. You know how I am.”

Ron nodded, brow furrowed. “You alright?” He asked, confused at his best friend’s self-mocking tone.

“Oh, I’m fine,” Draco said. He couldn’t believe that even the Weasel seemed to doubt. “Sorry you got stuck handling Hermione,” he added, prompting Ron to go into a diatribe of what he had to put up with. _Perfect._ He pulled out thick, creamy parchment—it had been folded many times into a square, like a map. _Interesting,_ he thought: it’s blank. But this paper is special. Expensive. Used for containment. He pulled out his wand, and realized it was Harry’s wand. Of course. He hesitated; would the wand respond to him? Instead of risking a full spell that might indict him, he simply tapped the wand against the parchment. It should normally request a password if Harry had already set it up – and instead, a conversation rippled across the paper. _Messer Prongs would like to compliment you on the stolen face you’ve chosen, for it is most handsome; but we know it is stolen, you coward. Messer Moony recommends you return this parchment, and this face, to their rightful owner at once. Messer Wormtail agrees with Messers Prongs and Moony, and would like to add that –_

Wait. _Wormtail?_ His stomach flipped. This was a Death Eater object. But…it claimed that the rightful owner was the same person whose face he had stolen. How could Harry be the rightful owner of a Death Eater object? Was this a list of traitors?

Draco quickly put the parchment in his back trouser pocket, heart beating rapidly. If he could deliver proof of traitors to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, maybe he could finally secure the Dark Lord’s trust in his family. Maybe it would lend safety to his parents.

He had to get out of there. He had to put the parchment someplace where—

The dormitory doors flew open, and Dumbledore entered the room. Several curious and bold Gryffindor faces peered from behind him, having followed to see what on earth could warrant a visit from the Headmaster.

“Mr. Malfoy, I presume?” Dumbledore looked down at Draco— _could that be amusement in his eyes? Draco wondered._

Draco stood, spreading his hands wide in innocence. “Since I’m technically a Gryffindor at this moment, I believe any point deduction should reflect that…”

“You are no more a Gryffindor than any costume transforms the wearer.”

“Wait— _Malfoy?!_ ” Ron sputtered.

“Do try to keep up,” Draco drawled. He broke into an uncharacteristic grin at hearing Harry’s voice use his words— _he can sound so sassy…_

“That will be quite enough,” Dumbledore admonished. “Come with me, Mr. Malfoy.”

“Then where’s the real Harry? What did you do to him, Malfoy?!” Ron demanded.

“Mr. Potter is fine,” Dumbledore said. “I trust you did no irreparable damage while roaming about the Tower?” he asked Draco. 

“Nothing…irreparable.” Draco admitted, and with a wicked grin to Ron, he added, “Though you may want to check on Granger.”

While Ron sputtered and swore, the Headmaster paused and looked Draco in the eye, twinkle suddenly gone from his own. _He’s an Occlumens!_ Draco realized, but too late…trying to counter Occlumency requires great connection between mind and magic, and his magic was not his own. It was like trying to draw with his foot: he couldn’t get a proper grip, he clumsily tried to harness his magic but it was an alien untrained force to his mind.

Dumbledore smiled. “Miss Granger is fine, Mr. Weasley, though I believe she would deeply appreciate an explanation at once.”

* *

As the Headmaster led Draco through the Hogwarts halls, Draco inwardly pouted that the old man was refusing conversation. _I bet he would have chatted up his precious Potter,_ he fumed. _Why am I so dismissable?_

The stairway gave a crackle as it began to swing to the right, altering their course. “I’m afraid not,” Dumbledore told it, pressing the tip of his wand into the rail. The stairs halted, and reverted to their original position. 

“Sir, how did you do that?”

“There are many advantages to being me,” he said simply.

They continued their brisk pace, when Draco stopped silently whining to himself and realized they weren’t headed for the infirmary.

He physically stopped when it dawned on him.

They were almost at Dumbledore’s office.

“Only the stairways move, so you’ll have to keep walking while using the halls,” Dumbledore chided.

Draco felt his heart quicken. Harry’s heart. He had never been to the Headmaster’s office. Not many students had. Any rule breakers typically had to report to their Head of House, or serve detention with the professor ordering it. _Why aren’t we returning to Madam Pomfrey?_ His mind started racing, conjuring elaborate possibilities in which he was expelled from Hogwarts. _Surely, a sneak into a different House isn’t cause for expulsion…_ he tried to logically calm himself, but Dumbledore’s time was not something doled out for normal infractions.

As they entered, Draco was mesmerized by the sight of Fawkes in his gilded cage. A phoenix, being a symbol of the team fighting against the Dark Lord, was a creature he was forbidden to see or learn about…but he read about them anyway, and he always secretly wished to meet one. To regenerate oneself, to heal anyone with its tears, the great and rare power in every single feather and from every flame and ash…This creature was elegant, resilient, the epitome of self-reliance, hard won loyalty, beauty and raw power…This was a Slytherin creature.

Draco almost forgot his anxiety at the sight of the bird. That’s why he didn’t notice Harry until the boy had stormed right in front of him and grabbed him by his cloak.

“What were you thinking?! I was bloody-well ready to die protecting you, and the minute you wake up you use my body to snoop around like a dog?! What is _wrong_ with you?!” 

“Gentlemen,” Dumbledore said, kindly, unconcerned. A staccato flick of his wand and both boys were pushed apart from one another and pushed down into chairs. 

Dumbledore swept behind his desk and took a seat. “Lemon drop?” He offered a candy dish to both boys. 

Harry ignored the gesture entirely and yelled at Draco, “What did you do?!”

“Perhaps just some tea…” the Headmaster continued, wandlessly levitating a teapot to pour two cups of something steaming, blue, and vaguely smelling like –Draco tried to pinpoint the scent…

_Like his mother._

“An anxiety draught? Really? Do you typically dose your students, or is this something special?” Draco snorted.

“Well, I would have preferred if you’d taken the candy. Its effects are less likely to slow the mind…But either way, I think you boys would desire a little something to keep the news less devastating.”

Immediately, both students stopped scowling at each other and turned to look at Dumbledore.

“What do you mean, less devastating?” Harry asked.

“Maybe some Firewhiskey would do the trick, you know, if you really want to give a tonic to ease the nerves…” 

Dumbledore smiled at Draco. 

“What do you mean. Less. Devastating.” Harry repeated, impatient and irritated at Draco’s distracting antics.

Dumbledore sat in silence, cooling regarding both boys, his long fingers steepling together. “You have been afflicted with the bite of The Switch,” he began. “It’s a serpent, long believed to be extinct.”

“Well, obviously, it’s not,” Draco drawled.

“Indeed,” Dumbledore acquiesced. “Once in its lifetime, The Switch will be compelled to deliver its namesake bite: to taste the blood of its two chosen, and to transfer their minds. In doing so, it also switches: its colouring inverts, its sex inverts, and its age inverts. That is to say, it begins to age backwards, becoming younger and younger, until it becomes nothing more than an empty egg, thus dying.”

“The only way to reverse the transfer of the afflicted, is to capture the same Switch who bit them, extract its venom and skin shedding, and create a potion each must drink.”

Dumbledore looked at the boys for a long time. “I’m afraid, locating a tiny snake in the Forbidden Forest will be like looking for a needle in a stack of needles.” He lowered his eyes. “It may not be found. Or, it may die before we can find it. If it dies, the cure dies with it.”

Draco felt like a brick had fallen into his stomach.

Harry started giggling.

“This isn’t funny!” Draco seethed, furious beyond anything he had ever felt.

“I’m imagining the look on your father’s face--” and Harry started laughing so hard that tears streamed down his face.

“I don’t believe we ought to inform anyone’s guardians,” Dumbledore said delicately. “Harry my boy, can you imagine how your own family would react?”

That sobered him up, and Harry quieted quickly. 

“Don’t tell them?” Draco repeated incredulously. “I’m fairly certain they’ll notice,” he drawled. “I know muggles are dim, but the sight of my gorgeous body when they’re expecting to see Harry’s skeletal vagrant form ought to tip them off that something is amiss.” 

“I’m not ‘skeletal’,” Harry shot back.

“Potter, you’re a skinny little runt. If it weren’t for your adam’s apple, you’d have no physique at all.”

“Bitch all you want Malfoy, that body is all yours now.”

“Gentlemen!” Dumbledore interrupted. “Please. I know this is an extremely unusual case. But I believe it is in the best interest of the safety of Mr. Malfoy, and in maintaining the tenuous arrangement with the Dursleys, to keep them uninformed at this time. We will have search parties, every day and every night, trying to locate the Switch. We still have a chance of reversing this whole situation.” He paused. “But in the meantime…I believe this should remain a Hogwarts Secret.”

“The last Headmaster to cast a Hogwarts Secret was nearly two centuries ago!” Draco said, shocked.

“Wait, what’s a Hogwarts secret?” 

“Oh my gods. How have you possibly gotten to sixth year without reading Hogwarts: A History?”

Harry flushed, surprised to find himself embarrassed, when every time Hermione had given him the same reprimand he just rolled his eyes in blasé annoyance. _What did he care what Malfoy thought?_

“I will explain at breakfast, Harry. I’m sure there are many students who will not remember their readings, or have not had the chance to read that particular passage.” He stood up from the desk. 

“Whoa, whoa, wait. What happens now?” Harry demanded.

“Now we go to the Great Hall. It’s time for breakfast. And I daresay, all this early-morning excitement has left me famished.”

“Wait!” Harry stood up, his now silver eyes wide. “I’m still in Draco’s body. I can’t—I can’t go down there!”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to, my boy. Oh! One thing may make matters a little easier to swallow.” The Headmaster flourished his wand, and the Slytherin robes Harry wore changed to Gryffindor, and Draco’s Gryffindor robes changed into Slytherin. Draco looked at Harry, and scowled at the sight of himself in scarlet and gold. Disgusting. And utterly tacky with his pale skin and platinum hair. Harry looked nauseated to see his own body in the serpent colours, the green of his eyes looking perfectly at home with the emerald robes. “Excellent! Off we go!”

And with that, Dumbledore lead both protesting boys towards the Great Hall.


	3. Hogwarts Secret

The Great Hall erupted when Harry and Draco walked in, wearing opposite House Colours to what the school expected of them. Accusations and questions alike were shot like arrows, puncturing the air, a swarm of lead-tipped words aimed against the unknown.

Harry nervously approached his friends, and gave a tiny smile. “Hey guys,” he said.

“Go to hell, Malfoy,” Ginny said, wand pointed aggressively at him. Hermione flushed a furious red.

“I’m not Malfoy,” Harry quickly corrected, seeing both girls on the edge of cursing him.

“Blimey, Harry, is that you?” Ron asked, his heart knowing the answer before his mind as he automatically moved aside for his friend.

“Yeah,” Harry said in Draco’s light scoff. It embarrassed him, that his voice came out so superior. “Thanks,” he added, softer, gratefully sitting next to Ron. Gryffindor protests lit like firecrackers along the table.

“Oh, MY GOD. Draco Malfoy. At our table. Ima gonna hurl.” 

Harry felt his lip curl unconsciously as he glared at the seventh year girl.

“Don’t listen to them, Harry,” Hermione said, uncomfortably. “And don’t do that thing with your mouth, it’s not you.”

“What thing?”

But the roar of the Slytherin table drowned out the rest of the school, as Draco, appearing to be Harry Potter in full Slytherin regalia, sat down for breakfast with Crabbe and Goyle.

“Silence!” Dumbledore commanded, standing at the podium generally reserved for the opening and closing feasts. The students fell silent; Dumbledore gave a tiny glare over his shoulder at Professor Trelawny, whose Irish Coffee kept her inquisitive gossiping fuelled despite her surroundings. A deeply patient Professor Sprout gave her hand a squeeze, and, blinking several times, Professor Trelawny quieted and drank some more coffee.

“Thank you,” Dumbledore said in a chipper voice. “As you may have noticed, there appears to be something of a role reversal happening today among two of our better-known sixth year boys.”

“They have been afflicted by a creature known as The Switch, thought to be extinct, but hiding in our treasure-trove of a forest.” He smiled, and adjusted his half-moon glasses. “Now, Mr. Potter is in the body of Draco Malfoy, and Mr. Malfoy is in the body of Harry Potter.”

Shock rippled through the school, as students and professors alike instantly started questioning: What did this mean for the “The Chosen One”? Was the prophecy nullified? Did it simply follow Harry’s mind and soul, or did Draco transmute both fate and body? Some of the Slytherins were staring at Draco, greed in their eyes, whispering among potential allies how they would be rewarded if they delivered him to their parents.

“As you all know, these are dangerous times. Knowledge of Mr. Malfoy’s condition beyond the safety of Hogwarts could put his life to risk. Therefore, I must ask you all to forgive me.”

And with that, a blinding white light filled the room with a thunderous clap. It cleared as quickly as it came. Harry looked around, and noticed that everyone had a fine dusting of metallic gold glitter coating their lips and hands. 

“What you see is the physical settling of the rule ‘silence is golden’. Don’t be alarmed, it will pass in moments.

“I have enacted an ancient curse—and indeed, it is a curse, upon every soul in this castle. Ghosts and house-elves included. It is called the Hogwarts Secret.”

Dark, outraged muttering grew in pockets of the student body.

“For those of you who don’t know: the Hogwarts Secret can only be cast by the Headmaster, and lasts one school year. Anyone who attempts to convey information about Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy having switched bodies, will find themselves unable to do so. You shall not speak it, nor write it, nor draw it. If you try, you will find yourself reciting a remarkable line of gibberish. It’s a rather fun party game. You can, however, discuss it among yourselves; but should anyone outside this school be within range of your conversation, your words will derail to fanciful talks of who-knows-what.”

“This is Dark magic,” Hermione gritted, unsure how she felt about the situation.

“It can’t be legal,” Ginny agreed. “Do you think this means the Order won’t even know?” she asked quietly.

“I bet Dumbledore isn’t bound to it like we are,” Ron said thoughtfully, touching his lips self-consciously. “He could probably tell them.”

Draco sat silent, running a tally of questions and checks in his mind. _Dumbledore wouldn’t only do this on my behalf, there has to be something in it for his champion. He mentioned a tenuous arrangement with the muggles…what on earth could that be about?_

He was pulled out of his thoughts by Crabbe’s boisterous questions. “Draco, what in all of Hades has happened?!”

“You’re right handed now,” Goyle remarked quietly. Draco stared down at his hand in amazement—he hadn’t even noticed his right hand automatically steering his fork through his food. It made his stomach turn slightly, how different this body was, how different everything was…

“The Switch is a snake,” Draco said, choosing to answer Crabbe rather than comment on Goyle’s observation. “It’s imbibed with the power to transfer one mind to another body. It forces two people to switch…” he couldn’t finish. He didn’t want to think about the likelihood of recovering his own body, and he didn’t want to be surrounded by a betting pool of his peers wagering his chances.

Blaise reached across the table and boldly took his hand. Draco held his breath at his boyfriend’s touch. It made him remarkably happy, that Blaise would dare while he was in this body…but it made him equally uncomfortable. His boyfriend was touching Potter.

“Look at me,” Blaise said quietly. Draco forced himself to look up. “It’ll be alright. How long does this last?”

Draco released his breath, and whispered, “Until we find the snake.”

Goyle gave a small smile. “You’re lucky this happened with Potter.” 

Draco glared hotly at his friend, ready to spit sparks, when Goyle continued: “Every resource at Bumblesnore’s disposal will be put to use.”

“Goyle’s right,” Blaise said. “That snake will be captured before you know it.”

“It better be,” Crabbe said. “Because the longer you’re in that body and don’t turn it over to you-know-who, the worse it’ll be for all of us.”

* *

At the end of breakfast, one of the floating candles bobbed delicately down from its ceiling position to dip a small bow to Harry, causing white wax to pool on the table. The candle retreated high above them once more, and Harry realized the wax spelled out: _Return to my office once you’ve finished breakfast. –Dumbledore._ He leaned back to get a view of the Slytherin table, and saw himself— _Draco_ \-- scowling at the table as a second white candle rose back to the ceiling. 

“Looks like Dumbledore wants you both to meet him,” Ginny said. Harry nodded. “He must have a plan to change you back.”

“Yeah, I think it involves a lot of finger-crossing,” Harry said. 

Ginny gave Harry’s shoulder a playful swat, and he grinned at her. “Whoa,” she said. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Malfoy actually smile. It’s…kinda hot. And disturbing.”

“Never, ever say that first part again,” Ron growled.

Ginny laughed and tossed her hair back. “Don’t worry Ron. If I’m gonna ravage your friend, it’ll be when he’s in his own body.”

While Ron choked on his pumpkin juice, Ginny patted him on the back and said, “Kidding!” 

Harry had no idea how to react to any of that. He had thought Ginny’s Year One crush on him had been entirely destroyed after, well, her traumatic Year One. Could she…possibly…still be into him? He felt a reactive twitch in his pants, and immediately shoved his food away from him, horrified at the thought of feeling Malfoy’s mini House mascot stirring. “I better go, then…” he muttered, leaving as quickly as he could. Avoiding Ginny’s gaze, he missed the fleeting look of hurt and shame flash through her.

Draco noticed Harry get up and leave immediately. _Let the git wait for me,_ he thought as he stubbornly loaded more bacon to his plate. 

“Dumbledore wants to see you both?” Pansy asked, nodding to the candle wax.

“Looks that way,” Draco said, taking a defiant bite of eggs.

“And you’re going to sit here and stuff your face.”

“It’s not _my_ face.”

“Draco Lucernus Malfoy. Get your ass to his office now. If he’s working on a plan to switch you back, you need to cooperate.”

Draco huffed at her. 

“She’s right, Draco,” Blaise said.

“It says here, after breakfast!”

“Yeah, and both Potter and Dumbledore have already finished and left.” Blaise said.

Goyle’s small eyes crinkled in amusement. “You can’t win when the wife and the boyfriend team up.”

Pansy beamed at Goyle. She enjoyed that most of Slytherin assumed her and Draco would be engaged soon. She hoped dearly for it to be true…getting betrothed to her best friend would be a much better prospect than with a stranger.

Draco gave a long suffering sigh and tossed his napkin to his plate. “Only because I love you both,” he said, standing up with a wink.

* *

Draco arrived at the gargoyle who guarded the entrance to the Headmaster’s office. “Raspberry Rat-tail,” he said, repeating the password Dumbledore had used with him earlier that morning. The gargoyle sprang aside, revealing the slowly ascending circular staircase. Draco marched up the stairs, purposely taking calm even steps. He didn’t understand what Dumbledore wanted with them, when he just spoke with them.

“Ahh, Mr. Malfoy,” Dumbledore greeted him. “I hope you won’t suffer indigestion from rushing through breakfast. Please, take a seat.” 

Draco sat on the edge of the chair, as stiff and prim as his mother when on the brink of an argument with his father.

“Sir, why have you called us back so soon?” Draco asked.

Harry lounged messily in his seat. It annoyed Draco to see his own body in such an undignified slouch.

“With breakfast upon us, we didn’t have time earlier to ascertain the effects of your transformation on your magical abilities.”

Harry’s shoulders tightened. “What do you mean?”

Draco pursed his lips. 

“Your magical signature is part of your body; it’s like your blood. Not only will there be…an adjustment period…to learn the specifics of using magic that isn’t yours, but you may require new wands.”

Harry glanced at Draco, and saw the dark haired boy sitting like a set of armour. 

“First, we shall need to test your current wands. If you would please place them both on the desk.”

Neither boy moved. 

“Right here,” Dumbledore urged, tapping the front of his desk.

Draco pulled out the wand still holstered in his robes: Harry’s wand, Holly, 11 inches. He wondered what the core was. He placed it on the table, with a challenging look at Potter.

Harry took out the wand in his robes. It had a near black handle, maybe an inch shorter than his own. He put it next to his familiar Holly wand, itching to take his own wand back.

“Excellent. Now, I’m going to first ask Mr. Malfoy to pick up his own wand. What spell reacted for you while you were testing wands?”

Draco shook his head. “My mother told Mr. Ollivander what she wanted. Unicorn hair is a tradition in our family wands, and after a consultation they decided to go with Hawthorn. I wasn’t even there, I was being fitted at Madam Malkins.”

Dumbledore nodded sagely. “Using materials out of tradition, in respect of blood lines, can occasionally create fantastic bonds…I, however, prefer to let the individual discover the right fit for them. In your case, Mr. Malfoy, you no longer have the bloodline that your wand is catered to.”

Draco went pale. He hadn’t had time to consider…he was no longer a pure-blood.

“I might be sick,” he whispered. Harry rolled his eyes and swore in annoyance. 

Muggles were the boogeymen to Draco, heartless and brutal primitives who burned witches from his family ancestry at the stake. 

Many wizarding families told their children beautiful lies about how the flames would only tickle those burnt; his family preferred truth and knowledge above comfort. Few witches and wizards could perform non-verbal magic, fewer still could successfully do wandless magic. But both, in a powerful spell like contorting an element? In reality, it was extremely unlikely that anyone could pull that off while tied to a stake and burned alive. 

He flashed onto the memory of his thrice-Great Grandmother, Isolande Malfoy. When he was a child, he was meditating in the Veneration Chamber, a room dedicated to portraits of every ancestor from their family. Isolande’s portrait, however, was covered with a black velvet curtain. Curious, Draco had pulled the curtain back, only to find her shrieking in agony. His father had rushed in, replaced the curtain, and for the first and only time in his life, struck Draco. When the boy started to cry, Lucius sat on the floor and pulled his son into his lap, cuddled him close, and explained that Isolande had been burned at the stake before she had a portrait made. The only painter who had seen Isolande in life, had seen her the day she died. No matter how he tried to paint, he could only capture her essence as he experienced it most strongly: in the moment of her death. Any light made her feel the flames again, and so her portrait was forever shrouded.

Draco could hear Isolande howling, wailing, could feel the terror and shock of his father’s slap, could see her blaming him for her pain. 

And now, he had muggle lineage; the blood of the monsters nourished him. 

Draco shakily reached forward and picked up his Hawthorn wand. It felt cold. He could already tell it didn’t recognize him; he tried to cast Lumos, and only a tiny ember spat off the end. Dread filled his belly.

“Alright, thank you, Mr. Malfoy. And now if you’ll be so kind as to indulge me? Please pick up Mr. Potter’s wand and attempt a simple spell.”

Draco set his own wand down with a tiny click of wood-on-wood, and paused. A moment of grieving. He picked up the Holly wand, and was bitterly pleased that it remained neutral. “Lumos,” he said, trying to keep this strange voice under tight control. A small fire shot into a book laying atop the Headmaster’s desk. Dumbledore neatly extinguished it.

“I’d wager that wand rather aggressively disagrees with you,” Dumbledore said with a twinkle in his eye.

Draco set it down on the desk. All his quips were gone.

“Mr. Potter,” Dumbledore said, turning to Harry. “If you would please begin by picking up your Holly wand and attempting a simple spell.”

Harry stared at his own wand. This is going to work, he willed, and he picked up his wand. A tickle of fear stroked cold fingers in his chest when he could already feel a change in his stead-fast wand. “Wingardium Leviosa,” he cast firmly at the book Malfoy had burned. A few pages fluttered. Nothing.

“Wingardium Levio-sah!” Harry tried again, louder and more pronounced. The cover page breezily raised itself, a slightly more robust ruffling of pages. 

Harry glared in disbelief.

“Alright, Harry—”

“Wingardium Leviosah!” He yelled, giving a violent swish and flick, determined to make it work. The book didn’t move at all.

“Harry, my boy. You gave it your best. Now, if you please…take Mr. Malfoy’s wand.”

“This is stupid,” Harry growled. “I don’t want Malfoy’s wand.”

“We need to know for certain that it’s not, in fact, your wand now.”

Draco watched Harry’s antics in silence. _Please, please don’t work for him,_ he begged the universe. His face was perfectly neutral.

Harry huffed, and grabbed the Hawthorn wand without ceremony. It…felt funny. Like static electricity. He wrinkled his nose in distaste, and before he could cast anything, the wand began emitting a tinny sound that bounced off the walls, causing objects to fall, and creating a zapping sensation when it passed over a person’s skin. Harry quickly put the wand down.

Dumbledore laughed. “I daresay, the wand is very much aware that you did not win its loyalty.”

Harry shrugged, not caring about Malfoy’s stupid wand. Draco closed his eyes and gave silent thanks.

“With Ollivander’s shop abandoned, and Mr. Ollivander nowhere to be found, we will need to procure wands from another source,” Dumbledore said. “I am sending you both with Hagrid to a wandsmith--”

Draco groaned. “Not Hagrid!”

“Yes, Mr. Malfoy, Hagrid. I would pay better respect if I were you,” he added as Draco scoffed, “For without his allegiance with Aragog and the spiders of the Forest, you and Mr. Potter would not have survived the night.”

“Allegiance with spiders?” Draco repeated incredulously.

Harry grinned. “You heard him. You owe your life to a half-breed, Malfoy.”

“Considering how many times he puts that life to risk with his insane classes, I’ll say he still owes me a few,” Draco grumbled.

“We have little time,” Dumbledore interrupted. “The gentleman I’m sending you to is quite eccentric, and prefers his clients come at specific hours. I believe his assistance is the best for your situation. He deals with…unusual materials for wands. And considering your semi-permanent unnatural states, you may require something less common.”

Harry’s pale brow furrowed, wondering what that meant.

“Seeing as this will put you both in public, I have to insist that you both remain under the Disillusionment charm until you are inside the shop.” 

Harry was grateful that Dumbledore didn’t ask him to bring his Cloak; it was enough of a disaster that Malfoy had infiltrated Gryffindor Tower and been caught rummaging in his trunk. He would have hated sharing the secret and intimacy of his Invisibility Cloak with the git. The very thought made him flush.

“Mr. Giordano typically locks his shop after a singular family or client arrives, so it will not be unusual for him to value Hagrid’s privacy,” Dumbledore continued. “Now, if you wish to wash up or get changed, you have half an hour to do so. You will meet Hagrid at his hut in that time. And remember,” he added softly. “Once you meet Mr. Giordano, you will be unable to explain your situation to him." 

“But…I thought you said our situation might need special materials? How are we supposed to tell him that?” Harry asked.

“As you just phrased it should suffice. But I wouldn’t worry; he has a knack at discerning what is needed.” Dumbledore stood. “Gentlemen, I bid you good luck. I will confirm with Hagrid that you will both be ready to meet him in half an hour. Once you’ve succeeded in obtaining new wands, consider the rest of your day to be a free period. Depending on my own level of success, I will summon you both to return here either tonight or tomorrow morning, to review our next steps.”

Dumbledore scooped up both their wands, and smiled gently at them. 

As Harry and Draco left his office and began walking to their respective Houses, they each thought the same thing: how terribly isolating and helpless it was to walk Hogwarts without a wand.


	4. Mr. Giordano

Harry arrived in Gryffindor House and immediately went upstairs to his room. He couldn’t rip Malfoy’s clothes off himself quick enough. Despite being charmed to Gryffindor colours, they were still _Malfoy’s clothes,_ and he felt grimy wearing them. He threw them angrily onto his bed, and when he took his shorts off he threw them directly in the fire.

He began pulling on his own clothes, and found they didn’t fit. Not properly. His trousers were short in the legs and uncomfortably snug. He realized he couldn’t do them up. Fuck. He struggled out of them, and tried for a shirt. His t-shirt was tight. It fit, but only if he was going for the near-spandex look. Frustrated, he yanked it off.

A loud cheering whooped into the room. Horrified, Harry grabbed the Gryffindor cloak he had discarded and quickly wrapped himself up in it. 

Slow applause: Seamus entered, laughing at him. Neville walked in with him, grinning apologetically.

“Fuck right off,” Harry said. 

“Sorry mate,” Neville said with a laugh.

“Oh c’mon now,” Seamus said, “No need to protect Malfoy’s virtue! Let’s see what he’s got!” Seamus took out his wand. Harry panicked, wandless.

“Expelliarmous!” Neville said. Seamus scoffed at him.

“Oi, COME ON. We’re just havin’ a bit o’ fun, yah?”

“There’s a line, man.”

_Thank God for Neville Longbottom._

“Bollocks, this is just a laugh. It’s Malfoy’s body! Harry, get a ruler.”

“I’m gonna stick with ‘fuck right off’,” Harry said.

Seamus laughed. “Why on earth are you being so coy?!”

“Leave him alone Seamus. He’s in that body, he doesn’t even know what he looks like, and you wanna put him out for judgment and ridicule?”

“I’m not ridiculing HIM, just Malfoy!”

“Yeah, well newsflash Seamus, he’s got to live in that body right now.”  
“Whatever,” Seamus said, rolling his eyes and walking over to his bed. “You’re such a Hufflepuff.”

“Thank you,” Neville said, a challenge in his eyes. “It’s not an insult to say I’m fair.”

“I was going for goody-two-shoes,” Seamus said, digging through his trunk.

“If that’s the worst my friends can say about me, I’ll take it,” Neville said, smiling.

“Ah-ha!” Seamus said, pulling out his Charms textbook. “I knew it was in here. Let’s go.”

“Er, Neville?” Harry said. Neville turned to look at him. “Ah, can you stay a sec?”

Seamus raised his eyebrows. “I’ll meet you at class,” Neville said. Seamus leaned over and in a stage-whisper said, “If he shows you his dong, people will pay for the pensieve.”

Neville punched his shoulder, laughing. “Take your wand and get out of here, you great big pervert.”

Seamus, taking his wand, used it to give a little salute as he left.

“What’s up Harry?”

“Do you…do you know how to charm clothing? Nothing fits,” he admitted sheepishly.

Neville’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Yeah, sure mate…but…can’t you do it? I mean, you don’t want something fancy right?”

“No, I don’t need anything like that. But,” Harry had to bully himself to say the next few words. “I can’t do magic right now.”

Neville’s eyes widened. “No shit…?”

“Yeah. Malfoy and I have to get new wands. Even then, Dumbledore said we’ll have to adjust to using magic that’s not our own.”

Neville whistled. “That’s rough,” he said. 

“Tell me about it,” Harry agreed.

“Okay, what needs doing?”

Harry gave his friend instructions, and Neville altered the clothes Harry had chosen. “I gotta get to class, but I can do the rest of your stuff tonight if you want.”

“Thanks Neville. That’d be great.”  
Neville smiled, turning to leave. 

“And Neville?”

Neville stopped to look back at Harry.

“Thanks. For Seamus.”

“No problem.”

* *

“Oh, Christ,” Harry swore when he saw Draco flirting with Pansy at the main doors. She was holding his hand and saying something earnestly to him; he patted her hand, and kissed her cheek. 

“Do you mind _not_ making out with Slytherin skanks in my body?” Harry said as he approached.

Pansy snarled at him, and Draco instantly bristled. “Potter, if that constitutes ‘making out’ for you, then I’d wager you’re a virgin.” With wide eyes and a gleeful smile, Draco asked, “Oh Merlin, am I virgin again?!”

“No,” Harry lied.

“I am aren’t I? Pansy, love, do me a favour, start informing Hogwarts that I’ll be selling precious Potter’s virginity to the highest bidder…”

“With pleasure,” she purred, smiling at Harry.

“Don’t you dare!” Harry called after her, as she sashayed down the hall. “You complete and utter arsehole!” Harry shoved Draco.

Draco shoved him back with a laugh. “Careful, or I’ll let your stalker Colin Creepy in on the bidding pool…”

Harry was about to yell back, but suddenly stopped. Starred. “What did you do to my hair?”

“I used this new invention called a comb,” he drawled.

“Seriously. What did you do? It’s flat.”

“Correction: it’s awesome. ‘Flat’ means boring. And I simply refuse to appear less than what I am. Despite current circumstances.”

“I can’t get it to not look fucked up.”

“That’s because _you’re_ fucked up,” Draco cooed and started walking outside. 

Harry trotted to catch up, realizing it was easier with longer legs.

“Okay, a moment of truth. You’re not…you’re not messing around with Pansy as me, are you?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Potter.”

Harry felt relieved. Draco smirked.

* *

_Knock, knock, knock._

Side-stepping a bounding Fang, Hagrid threw open the door.

“Harry!” He cried, elated. He threw his arms wide and instinctively leaned towards what looked like Harry, and Draco sneered and flinched back. “Oh, right, not you…Harry!” He wrapped his arms around Harry, who smiled and could feel himself relax from Hagrid’s genuine affection.

“Hey Hagrid. Thanks for last night. We owe you,” Harry said, pointed with his pronoun choice.

“Codswallop, Harry,” Hagrid said, grinning. “I’m not Groundskeeper for nothin’, yeh know. It’s me duty to keep tha’ Forest in order. I did nothin’ outta the ordinary. ‘Course…” he paused, embarrassed, “I may have torn off the fron’ doors to the infirmary when I got there with yeh both…Madam Pomfrey hasn’ forgiven me for scarin’ her…”

Noticing the bored, disapproving look on Draco’s face, Hagrid flushed. “Never thought I’d ever see yeh look at me like tha’,” He said to Harry, nodded briskly at Draco. 

Harry snorted. “Yeah, it’s been a trip.”

“Speakin’ of trip! Let’s go!” Hagrid said, clapping his hands together and rubbing them excitedly.

Hagrid led them behind his hut, and gleaming in the fall sun was Sirius’ flying motorbike. Harry felt his throat swell and harden. Sirius. He swallowed, trying to force the lump away.

“What. Is THAT.” Draco demanded.

Hagrid beamed at him. “It’s a muggle biwheeled locomotor! Enchanted to FLY!”

Draco’s jaw opened slightly and his lip curled in distaste. 

Harry laughed, Draco’s expression helping him shove away his grief for his godfather.

“Oh, it gets better,” Harry said, grabbing Draco’s arm and pulling him around to see the side of the bike. “We get the SIDECAR.”

“That’s like, held on by one little strip of metal,” Draco said.

“Yep.”

“Made by muggles.”

“Yep.”

“There’s no way it’s reliable,” Draco said.

“This bike has bin aroun’ longer ‘n yeh have, Malfoy!” Hagrid boomed, protective of his inherited machine.

“Oh great, it’s OLD too,” Draco whined.

Harry hopped in, delighted to see how uncomfortable Draco was.

“Can’t we just Portkey like any normal wizard?”

“Dumbledore said we’re ter go with the bike,” Hagrid said importantly. “Portkeys need ter be registered, an’ we don’ wan’ anythin’ so traceable.”

Wary, Draco began to climb over the edge.

Hagrid swung himself into his seat, causing the bike to tilt as Draco was delicately trying to climb over the edge. He slipped, swearing. It was cramped in the sidecar, meant for one large wizard, but carrying two teenage boys. “Move,” Draco grumbled, knowing full well that Harry had nowhere to move.

“I can’t, you move!” Harry retorted.

“Ready?” Hagrid bellowed, revving the bike. Draco gripped onto the side, hating how Harry laughed at him for it.

Like the sound of a laughing god, the bike roared to life and took to the sky.

* *  
Nearly two hours later, Hagrid finally landed. He pushed his riding goggles atop his head, and pulled out his pink umbrella. “Hold up,” he said, rapping each boy over the head with it. 

“Ow,” Malfoy complained. “You incompetent—”

“Where are we Hagrid?” Harry asked.

“Best not speak now, yeh both,” Hagrid said gruffly, giving a nod when the Disillusionment charm completed. “Alrigh’. Let’s go.”

Hagrid had parked along a dirt road. Tall yellow grass swayed around them. It was a small village, several farmers, and one rickety looking house with a haunting of trees packed tight in its 100 acres of land.

Hagrid led them towards this house, and as they got closer Harry felt more and more like they shouldn’t. 

The paint was dull, molting off the house in feathery chunks, exposing the bare pink beneath. The roof, dented severely just off centre, looked almost designed to be a giant lopsided ‘V’, with the outer walls of the house jauntily holding their ends high in near-mockery.

With every step, Harry felt something twist in him, telling him to turn around.

“Something’s wrong,” Draco hissed.

“Quiet,” came Hagrid’s tiny growl. He seemed to struggle to continue forward as well.

Hagrid reached for the door knocker, and once his fingers wrapped around the ring it yanked his hand inside the door.

“Name.”

“Wha’ is this?!” Hagrid roared.

“Name.”

Hagrid tried to pull his hand free, and the door tightened around his wrist.

“Let go!”

“Name.”

Hagrid glared at the door, and Harry could tell he was contemplating ripping the damn thing off its hinges, but he must have thought better of it because he gruffly answered, “Rubeus Hagrid.”

Hagrid yelped, “Somethin’ bit me!!!” 

A moment’s pause; the door released his hand, and swung open.

Hagrid stared, but only blackness greeted him, as if someone had used Peruvian Darkness Powder in the doorway.

He stepped through, and Harry and Draco followed silently.

“Wha’s this all abou’?!” Hagrid demanded.

“Johanna tells me you taste good. But has yet to taste the hidden ones.”

“Yeah?” Hagrid said gruffly, still unable to see anything in the house. “Tell Johanna she won’ be tastin’ ‘em. They’re under my protection.”

Bright light, the sudden change blinding the three wizards. A cackle.

“Oh, they’ve been tasted already, I see, I see…”

Draco glanced at Harry nervously. 

“Look,” Hagrid started, rapping both boys over their heads again to dissolve the Disillusionment charm. “These two are here ter hire yer services. Can you wand ‘em or not?”

“That depends,” said Mr. Giordano. He was in his early 100’s, his olive skin wrapped as tight as canvas across his wooden bones. He was missing several teeth, and his knuckles bulged like walnuts across his hands. “Are they muggles?”

“How dare you!” Draco sputtered.

Mr. Giordano laughed, and with an agility that defied his age, sprang monkey-like to his side. “You think, you think…” His normally hunched form stood to its straightest, and he stood on tip toe to stare Draco in the eyes. “Hmm, yes. You think.”

He relaxed his posture again, hunching into his comfort stance, and stole Draco’s hand. He flipped it over, his shining eyes lighting over the lines and grooves of the boy’s palm. Harry’s palm. He frowned. “No, you are not a matching set,” he murmured, monkey crouch walking to Harry. He grabbed Harry’s shirt and pulled him down to look into his eyes. “Hmm. You. You fly.” He released Harry’s shirt and gently took his hand, eyes soft on his palm. “Ahh, there you are…” He looked between Harry and Draco.

“You have found the Switch. The Switch has found you. Perhaps you can find each other.”

Mr. Giordano went to Hagrid’s side. “Yes. I will wand them. It will be costly.”

“As long as yeh’re not plannin’ ter take any more blood,” Hagrid joked. 

“Apologies. Johanna polices the liars. She can taste malintent,” he explained, motioning to a beautiful lizard the size of a poodle. “People come, they fight through the repelling ward, they are either in true need or they want to shut me down. 

“A life, a world, it needs you to be…careful,” he said quietly, squishing the pad of this thumb hard against Draco’s forehead: Harry’s scar.

“You can go now,” he said flippantly to Hagrid.

“Wha’?”

“You are disturbing everything and cannot be here.”

Hagrid looked furious, then self-doubting. He turned to Harry. “If yeh need anythin’… I’ll be righ’ outside.”

“Next door,” Mr. Giordano corrected. “You forget my wards but they won’t forget you.”

“Righ’,” Hagrid said, worried.

“We’ll be fine, Hagrid,” Harry told his friend.

After some reassuring, Hagrid finally stepped outside.

“Alone! The five of us at last!”

“Five?” Harry asked.

“Can’t you count?”

Harry looked around, to see if there was another pet besides Johanna that he had overlooked. But to his eyes, including the lizard, it was just the four of them.

Mr. Giordano cackled. “No, no, you can’t count, you’re not the thinker!” He stood tall again, and stood nose to nose with Draco. He whispered, “You count. You. Stop sleeping.” 

“I’m not sleeping,” Draco said, leaning back for want of personal space and air that didn’t smell like death.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” Mr. Giordano said simply, hunching back down and walking towards a crate of boxes.

Draco looked at Harry and mouthed the words, “He’s crazy!”

Harry grinned and nodded. He looked back at Mr. Giordano, and saw the man digging through—wands? Harry raised his eyebrows, jerked his thumb at the sight and looked at Draco again. Draco glanced over, did a double take and gave a soft, single laugh. He shook his head and smiled back at Harry. They could both imagine how Ollivander would have reacted: their familiar wandmaker wrapped each individual wand in its own custom box, inlaid with a velvet bed and a ribbon blanket overtop the wand before the lid shut. And Mr. Giordano…kept hundreds of wands clinking together in a wooden crate.

“A contender!”

Despite his singular term, he pulled two wands out.

He gave both boys a hard, appraising look, before very deliberately offering each wand simultaneously.

Harry reached for his, then froze. His left hand had automatically reached out. He dropped his hand, embarrassed and uncertain.

Draco asked, “What are they made from?”

Mr. Giordano looked up at Draco, inky eyes searching for something. “Hold. Discover.”

Harry reached again, and closed his left hand over the proffered wand. He gasped. He had never felt anything like this from a wand. It—it was invasive—

He dropped the wand to the floor.

“No thanks,” Draco drawled.

Mr. Giordano paid no attention to the boys, instead falling with the wand, leaning on hands and knees with his ear to the ground. He lifted his face, staring intently at the wand, its shadow, its angle.

“Jealous thing,” he whispered, picking it up lovingly and returning to his crate. “Back to your orphan brothers and sisters.”

Harry looked at his hand—Draco’s hand. He wanted to scrub the veins of his entire arm. He was glad he dropped the wand as quickly as he had, and was wondering what had been inside it.

“Again.” Mr. Giordano held out two wands, drastically different from each other in appearance. Draco turned to Harry, arms folded across his chest, expectantly waiting.

“What, you’re not even going to try until you see my reaction?!”

“Pretty much.”

“Git.” Harry took the wand. He hiccupped. _Well, that’s embarrassing._ He hiccupped again; and then the hiccups had no pause between, his chest aching with each firm thump, his breath hard to deliver. His hand was gripped tight around the wand. _Let go,_ he told himself. His fingers jolted apart, the wand dropped, and the hiccups stopped.

Mr. Giordano fell in tandem once more, ear to the ground, listening to the vibrations gossip, watching the shadow’s condemning texture, noting the number of times the wand tapped and rolled before resting to the ground.

The elderly wandsmith returned both wands without a word, and dug around for another offering.

So it went for hours, with Harry testing and Draco bored out of his skull. Draco would not risk embarrassing himself in public.

Mr. Giordano gripped Harry’s hand, starring into the lines of his palm once more. “Your previous wand…Hawthorn.”

“That was my wand,” Draco said, alert at the sound of his old wand. 

“Your body is spoiled, stubborn. It has not suffered.”

Harry laughed. Draco glared at him. “Why are you laughing? Scars and suffering are not something to be proud of.”

“Your body has expectations and is not yielding without fulfilment.”

“My boyfriend would agree with you.”

Harry gaped at him. “Your—what?”

Mr. Giordano cackled. “Circle’s centre, thinks it stays in the same place, doesn’t know it turns….” He dropped Harry’s hand and returned to the crate.

Harry was still looking at Draco. “I thought you and Pansy--?”

“You and most of Hogwarts,” Draco said. “Slytherin knows. But we don’t spread our own business around. We’re loyal.”

Harry looked confused. “But…so…you’ll tell your House, but not the school? Why?”

“Because Pansy is my best friend,” Draco answered. Seeing that Harry was still confused, Draco elaborated. “I wouldn’t humiliate her. It’s very likely her and I will be betrothed soon. Having affairs, both her and I, is only an appropriate outlet if we hold discretion. Telling the world I’m gay would destroy the illusion. Slytherin is savvy to these kinds of situations and doesn’t judge.”

Harry felt like his world had just reeled off kilter slightly. “Why are you telling me then?” He asked gently.

Draco shrugged. “You’re in my body, so chances are you’d discover I’m not straight pretty damn quick. I figure if I confide in you beforehand, your Gryffindor chivalry will keep you honourbound to keep it to yourself. Unless…you’d expect to be attracted to men, because you’re not straight either?”

“I’m straight!” Harry said.

“Alright,” Draco said. “Then yeah. My body would tell you.” 

With a wicked grin, Harry said, “I dunno, Malfoy…your body seemed to tell me otherwise.”

Draco looked shocked. “What have you been doing with my body?!”

“Nothing!”

“Trollshit! You hypocrite, you get all up in my business about whether or not I’m fucking Pansy in your body—”

“Hey wait—you said you wouldn’t— _that was only because you’re gay, wasn’t it?!_ ”

“—meanwhile you’ve been doing WHAT with some female—oh gods. Do not impregnate a mudblood girl.”

“What?!”

“She will not be eligible for any Malfoy titles, lands, or monies. I will not accept any bastard as mine if it’s fathered by you.”

“Malfoy, you know I’m a virgin!”

Draco stopped. “For serious? I was joking earlier.”

Harry stopped. _He had been joking?!_ Harry huffed, a small pink creeping high in his cheeks.

“Potter, you’re straight, you’re rich, you’re the bloody Chosen One, how are you not slipping your wand in every lioness at Hogwarts?”

“I’m…waiting.”

“Waiting.”

“Yes, Malfoy, waiting.”

“For what?! To die and become a pervy ghost in the toilets with Myrtle?”

“Fuck off.”

Draco paused. _Huh. Waiting._ “That’s kind of romantic.”

Again, Harry felt completely flat footed. How was it that Malfoy could always throw him off guard?

“Waiting for anyone in particular?” When Harry refused to answer, Draco added, “If you say ‘Granger’, I will laugh forever.”

“No, not Hermione!” Harry said quickly. “She’s like a sister.”

Silence.

“Cho Chang?”

“Stop guessing Malfoy, I’m not talking about this with you.”

“Fine,” Draco said. “The She-Weasel?”

“I’m still not talking about this with you.”

“Alright! _Fine,_ ” Draco relented. “You may have felt something for a girl in my body, but attraction lives in both the mind and the body. So your mind conjured that lady-sexytimes-moment. But my body will soon educate you on men.”

Harry was stunned. “Wait. You’re saying…you think I’ll start to like…”

“Welcome to the Cocksucker Club.”

Before Harry could react, Mr. Giordano returned. He held two wands, midnight black with a fine powdering of sea-blue. Mr. Giordano held the shorter of the pair to Harry. Harry’s hand closed around it. The weight of it was comforting. It…fit.

Draco watched closely. This was the first time Harry hadn’t reacted instantly with boils or creepy looks on his face or anything.

Harry felt confident enough to try a small spell. _I’ll choose Lumos,_ he thought, and the instant his intent was solidified the wand cast a blue glow. 

He hadn’t needed to verbalize the spell at all.

Draco reached for the wand offered to him. It was warm. And…something calling. He found himself smiling, without understanding why. “Lumos,” he said, like a greeting. His wand gave a purple-blue glow.

Mr. Giordano triumphantly shrieked his pleasure at their success.

“Now will you tell us the materials?” Draco pressed, still smiling.

Mr. Giordano sat on the ground, deep in thought. “Do you ask for knowing, or for judging?”

“I’m curious,” Harry admitted.

Mr. Giordano waited, and after a pause Draco admitted, “Honestly? To know, to judge, to learn.”

Mr. Giordano nodded at Draco. He turned to Harry. “You. Flier. You don’t want to know.”

Harry glared at him. “With all due respect, yes, I do want to know.”

“Your mouth says words from your brain. Your mouth is foolish. Mouth needs to take orders from your spirit. What does your spirit warn you?”

“I don’t—”

“Stop. Your mouth is moving. Stop. Listen to yourself.”

Harry paused, and with surprise realized that his gut reaction told him he didn’t want to know. Naturally, this only made him more curious.

“I really want to know,” Harry affirmed.

Mr. Giordano shook his head. “Fool-mouth Flier. Alright.” He stood up again, and looked each of them in the eye. “Wood is a hybrid; Hawthorn, and Elder. The Core…is taken from the same creature.” He paused to look between each boy. He pushed his thumb pad into Draco’s chest. “You, have the vocal cords. Unwound, curled, at rest. You,” he pushed his thumb pad into Harry’s chest. “You, have a lung; a slender, narrow thing, stretched taunt in its chamber.

“As for the donor…her name was Mauria.”

Both boys stared dumbfounded.

“She was young. Sweet. I stole her from the sea, and I made nearly thirty wands with her.”

“She…she was a mermaid?” Harry asked. “But…they’re like us. You can’t…” He looked down at his wand like it had betrayed him.

Mr. Giordano clapped a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Fool-mouth Flier,” he said remorsefully.


	5. Success

Harry was deeply disturbed that his wand materials had been harvested from a sentient being, something—no, someone—so close to human. That she had been kidnapped and killed for his wand was devastatingly immoral. 

“I can’t use this,” Harry said, holding his wand awkwardly.

“Potter, it’s done,” Draco said quietly. He, too, was staring at his wand with tendrils of guilt weeding themselves thickly in his logic.

Mr. Giordano left the boys to call Hagrid back into his home. Harry strode to the crate of wands. 

“Potter—”

“What else does he use.” Flat-voiced, nearly a statement.

“How should I know?” Draco sighed, exasperated.

“A girl died!” Harry yelled, turning to glare at Draco. “She was taken from her family, from her world, so she could die and never even receive a burial because she was butchered for her body parts!”

Draco simply stared at him stonily.

“And we’re planning to pay this man for what he’s done?” Harry asked in disbelief.

“Dumbledore warned us that he uses uncommon materials. Mr. Giordano admitted he frequently had people trying to shut him down. Did you believe everything would be clean and legal?” Far from the usual confrontational banter, Draco’s words were soft, swirling with sadness, resigned.

“Illegal is one thing,” Harry spat. “I could handle illegal. If I had to. But this—this is bigger than that. It’s _wrong._ ”

Draco looked down at his wand again. He had never had a wand truly _choose_ him before. It was such a special bond, a rite of magical passage that he hadn’t experienced before, and he loved it.

But a girl died for it.

“Alright Potter,” Draco began. “What do you want to do about it?”

Harry looked stunned to have Draco agreeing with him.

“Well…we can’t accept these!” Harry said.

“Alright,” Draco said again, watching Harry closely. “So, we don’t accept them. We tell the old man exactly what we think of him, and his work. We leave empty handed. Then what? We’re bound by the Hogwarts Secret, so we can’t explain what we were doing here to anyone in the Ministry. Which means we can’t report him. So your plan, is to remain without wands, without magic, during a war in which you are a pivotal figure.” He raised his eyebrows at Harry. “Can you afford to be without magic for as long as it takes to find the Switch?”

Harry looked at his wand again. “No,” he whispered, the word an apology.

Mr. Giordano entered with Hagrid in tow. “Yeh boys alrigh’?” Hagrid asked them.

They both nodded solemnly, lost deep in thought.

Hagrid pulled a purple pouch from his inside jacket pocket, and doled out a significant amount of galleons to the wandsmith. 

“And?” Mr. Giordano added, having counted the money and apparently waiting for something.

“Oh! Righ’,” Hagrid said, pulling out a tiny parcel covered in brown paper and tied with a string. “Dumbledore told me yeh’d be expectin’ this.”

Mr. Giordano’s fingernails expertly pulled the string and slit the paper, so that all the wrapping fell to the ground like a snake’s shedded skin, nearly intact. Inside was a small clear box lined with wax paper. Six different cubes of cheese sat with careful intention, like jewelry. The old man’s mouth made appreciative smacking noises, and after a moment’s staring he closed the lid and held the box close to his body, coveted.

“Dumbledore, you said?” Mr. Giordano asked silkily.

Hagrid looked immediately guilty. “Oh…I shouldn’ta told yeh tha’.”

“My, my,” Mr. Giordano said, sidling closer to the half-giant. “Give him a message. For me.”

“Uhh….sure. I can do tha’.”

“His wand is a greater atrocity than any I have created. Tell him it will kill him; it doesn’t know any better. It was born to death.”

“Right,” Hagrid said uneasily. “I’ll be sure ter tell him.”

With that, Mr. Giordano snapped his fingers and all three of his houseguests found themselves just outside the line of his property.

* *

On returning to Hogwarts, Draco immediately went to the library. He knew very little about merpeople; pureblood families always did steadfast research on the wood and creature whose contributions allowed the creation of their wand. Purebloods never saw wands as tools: they were companions. They had near-sentience, and they channeled the most precious part of any witch or wizard. Draco needed to learn more about mermaids, so his relationship with his wand could deepen. They needed to understand each other.

Harry went directly to Gryffindor tower. He laid in bed, curtains drawn, starring at the ceiling trying to process the situation. How long would he be stuck in Draco’s body? He could never tell Hermione about his wand. How would his adjustment to Draco’s magic affect his classes? What if Voldemort struck while Harry was still like this? He missed his old wand. Knowing it was Voldemort’s twin gave him an edge. He felt safer with it.

Harry fiddled with his new wand, twin to Draco’s. He felt suddenly bitter that he always seemed to twine his magic with one nemesis or another. _What does that say about me?!_ he brooded. 

He got up, going to the bathroom. On his way in, he misjudged the step with his new longer legs and stubbed his toe. Harry swore. He gripped his foot, shocked at how low Draco’s pain tolerance was. He thought about Buckbeak tearing his arm, thought about the Gnoll’s talons across his back. He shuddered. For all the abuse Harry put up with while living with the Dursleys, he hadn’t realized he’d been dealt a kind hand with a higher pain tolerance than normal. He really felt like his toe was broken, even though he logically knew he hadn’t hit it that hard. He limped into the bathroom and locked the door.

Harry leaned on the sink’s counter and stared at himself in the mirror. He tested out a few facial expressions, and realized Draco had a naturally very expressive face—he only chose to hide it behind cool veneers and smirks. At least, publically. He remembered Draco telling him that all of Slytherin knew he was gay. When you share something like that, Harry expected you didn’t go hiding every emotion from reaching your face.

Harry wrinkled his nose. Draco’s fine, straight nose. When Harry pulled the look in his own body, he looked about five years old again. But Draco’s face somehow made it look disapproving and adult, like a man whose wine was not what he expected. It pissed him off.

Harry lost track of how long he stayed there, trying to get used to his new face, to commit to memory how it moved and how others would see him. He wondered how he would handle getting in and out of the shower stalls without ridicule from Seamus and however many other Gryffindors had something against Malfoy.

Harry finally emerged from the bathroom to discover it was nearly dinnertime. The Tower was bloated with rowdy students killing time before heading down to the Great Hall.

Harry went downstairs to sit in the common room. He found Hermione sitting on one of the couches, a half a dozen sheets of parchment laying like puzzle pieces around her. Her finger on one for reference, she was making a notation on another. Harry thought about the type of smile he wanted to give, and tried his best to mimic what he had practiced. “Mind if I join you?” he asked, knowing better than to move her paperwork.

“Oh! _Harry,_ you startled me,” she blustered. She began carefully collecting the parchment slips, their order appearing as confusing to Harry as a Rubix cube and equally as logical to the girl. “I really hope I don’t have to get used to equating Malfoy’s face with my best friend,” Hermione said as Harry sat next to her. She couldn’t help shifting slightly away—the sight of Draco Malfoy made her uncomfortable. “How long does Dumbledore think this is going to take?” 

“I don’t know. He said they’ll have search parties around the clock for that damn snake. But…” he shrugged.

“He needs the snake? The exact same snake?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, Harry…” he watched Hermione’s face contort in anxiety. “We have to help them look!”

Harry nodded. “I figured I’d sneak out after curfew.”

“I didn’t mean that,” Hermione said quickly. “I meant we have to go to the library. Dig up everything ever written about the Switch. Learn typical behavior after it’s delivered its bite, try to predict where it is.” 

“If Dumbledore thinks sending scouts into the Forest is the best plan, I’m gonna go with that.”

“Harry. Dumbledore also thinks the Forest is too dangerous for students. He reminds us every year that it’s forbidden!”

“Not forbidden enough to keep it exempt from detention duty,” Harry countered.

“Actually, I asked about that after our First Year,” Hermione said. “Turns out, any issued detention in the Forest is prepared by Hagrid first; he lures the more dangerous beasts to stay on the opposite side from where the students are released. This keeps the Forest moderately safe during that time. It may be that occasionally a few slip out of his constraints, but the majority remain in check. You have a specific time frame you’re expected to be in there, and a professor or three monitoring your return.”

“No way,” Harry argued. “The whole point of our First Year detention was we were supposed to hunt down whatever had killed the unicorn!”

Hermione smirked. “Professor McGonagall made me promise not to say anything, but if it’ll make you reconsider sneaking in, I don’t think she’d mind. The truth is, Hagrid had confided that he’d discovered unicorn blood while visiting Aragog. As usual, Hagrid couldn’t let any animal be in pain, so he had packed bandages and ointments in his pockets with the plan to search the Forest and help. He believed it was only wounded. McGonagall thought sending us into the Forest with him would scare us into our beds, and stop us from sneaking around again. She told Hagrid to embellish the story to us.”

“That bitch,” Harry said.

“I was steamed when I first found out too. But they had no idea something unusual was actually hiding in there, or that the unicorn had been fatally wounded; they just wanted to spook us. Obviously they had no idea that Voldemort had infiltrated school grounds.”

“I can’t believe Hagrid strung us along like that. He had me convinced we were monster-hunting.”

“Honestly Harry, it makes sense. He split us up into two teams, for goodness sakes! Did you really think that would happen, especially to First Years, if any professor thought a dangerous unknown beast had gotten in?”

Harry shrugged. “I guess not…”

“Precisely,” Hermione said. “I mean, come on. We aren’t even allowed to go to Honeyduke’s until third year with a parent’s permission slip!” She added with a laugh. “As for this snake hunt—Hagrid can’t lure the beasts to a corner every night. It would jeopardize their quality of life,” Hermione insisted. “And by doing a sweep he might inadvertently have the Switch hide in the corners that they aren’t looking in. This means the Forest will have no restraints. You can’t go in there when it’s like that. Especially while trying to avoid our professors who will be searching the area!”

“I can’t just sit back and wait,” Harry argued quietly. He hated to admit it, but with the realization that his previous encounters in the Forest had been PG-13 versions of its potential, he might have to do just that: sit back and wait. Especially while he couldn’t use magic. It made him feel useless.

“You won’t be doing nothing: you’ll be researching. Ron and I will help,” she reassured.

“Where _is_ Ron?”

Hermione’s lips tightened. “I’m sure I have no idea,” she answered pertly. Harry raised his pale eyebrows and stared at her. She sighed. “He’s flirting with the wretch.”

“Ahh,” Harry said helpfully. 

“I know!” Hermione said, seizing on his comment as if he had vindicated everything she ever thought about Lavender Brown.

“Hey Harry,” Neville said, smiling as he approached their couch. 

“Hey, Neville,” Harry greeted in return.

“How’d it go?” Neville asked, casually sitting on the arm of the couch.

“How’d _what_ go?” Hermione’s eyes narrowed.

Harry resisted the urge to smack Neville upside the head. _Oh well. It’s not as if I could avoid the subject altogether._ “Malfoy and I had to get new wands today.”

He could nearly see the calculation flash through the witch’s eyes. “Of course!” Hermione exclaimed. “The wand chooses the wizard, and with your transformations… you’re not the same person your wand chose.”  
“Exactly.”

“Where did you go? Ollivanders shut down …”

As they walked down to the Great Hall for dinner, Harry described Mr. Giordano to them. Hermione was fascinated to learn that Draco’s magic stayed with his body, and Harry’s with his body. 

Ron joined them at the dinner table, giving a tiny wave with just his fingers to Lavender. Hermione rolled her eyes.

“So, let’s see it then,” Hermione said briskly to Harry.

“See what?” Ron asked, mouth already stuffed with potatoes.

Harry pulled out his new wand. 

“What unusual lettering…” Hermione said, looking closely. Mer-script was carefully engraved vertically down one edge.

“No way! You got a new wand?!” Ron said.

Ginny leaned across the table to look at it better. “It’s really pretty. I’ve never seen blue in a wood before.” 

Harry quickly put it away.

“What’s it made from?” Ginny asked.

 _Fuck._ Harry was a terrible liar. He tried to remember his neutral-face, his give-away-nothing face. Malfoy’s mask.

“Elder and Hawthorn interbreed, with a lung chamber from some sea creature I can’t pronounce.” He held his breath and tried to look nonchalant. 

“I’ve read that when the core material is especially potent, it can affect the wood colour. But I’ve only heard of golds, reds, or silvers emerging,” Hermione pointed out.

Harry tried a shrug, and said, “Dumbledore sent us to get something unusual, and I guess we did.”

“It’s really very irresponsible for you to not know the core of your own wand,” Hermione scolded. “You need to ask Dumbledore permission to Floo call Mr. Giordano and write down the name straight away.”

“Yeah, sure thing,” Harry said, intending to never do that.

Two tawny brown Hogwarts owls swooped into the Hall.

“A little late for mail, isn’t it?” Ginny wondered.

One perched on the wide glass stopper to a Butterbeer decanter at the Gryffindor table, its fiercely intelligent eyes digging into Harry as it delicately offered its tiny leg to him. The second perched on Draco’s outstretched arm. Each bore a card the size you’d expect from a florist, and in purple ink was handwritten Dumbledore’s request to meet in his office after dinner.

Harry groaned. He was sick of spending so much time with Malfoy. Harry offered a little bit of meat to the bird, which it gobbled as if it was a game to see how fast he could do it. The boy grinned, and the bird took off.

Harry shoved his plate aside. Everything tasted awful, which he assumed was from nerves and exhaustion. He just wanted this day to be done and over with.

* *

Draco was last to arrive at the Headmaster’s office again. He would much prefer others wait for him than vice versa. 

“Gentlemen,” Dumbledore began. “I am pleased to tell you that my first choice in private instructor has agreed to return to Hogwarts to guide you through your reintroduction to magic.”

“What about our regular classes?” Draco asked.

“Those will be temporarily suspended.”

A flash of panic went through Draco’s green eyes. “But—sir, missing a day is one thing. How long are you expecting us to be held back? What about our grades? My father keeps a close eye…”

“We will have a better idea of how long you will require a private instructor once he has had the chance to gauge your current abilities. As for your grades,” Dumbledore said, twinkle in his eye, “I will deflect your father’s concerns by including a personal letter from myself remarking on your academic achievements.”

Draco still looked concerned, but relaxed in his chair. 

“Your studies will begin immediately after breakfast tomorrow, in the Dynamics room on the second floor. Bring parchment and quill, and patience with yourselves. Your day will be divvied into the same hours as your regular schedule would, the only difference being you return to the same room and the same professor between breaks.

“As for your professor…” Dumbledore beamed at Harry. “You will be welcoming Mr. Lupin’s return.”

Harry was excited—he had learned so much from Remus’s brief one-year teaching at Hogwarts. No teacher had ever gotten through to him as expertly.

“What?!” Draco snarled. “He’s no professor, he’s a werewolf!”

“A man can be both,” Dumbledore said sweetly. “In fact, it is his condition that makes him perfect for helping you. As a werewolf, he has experienced the struggle you both face: being bitten, and having your magic alter as a result of the transformation inflicted.”

Draco was unimpressed. 

“That’s fantastic,” Harry said. Finally, one thing was going right.

“Of course _you_ would think that,” Draco said. “There have to be other options.”

“None that I trust as implicitly, and none with the same level of expertise. Mr. Malfoy, I’m afraid this will just have to be one of those things you need to accept.”

“My father—”

“Won’t know a thing about this. You would have no way of explaining the situation.”

Draco was steaming. Harry laughed. Draco glared at him and spat a firely little “shut up” at the boy.

“I suggest you both get an early night’s rest, for tomorrow will be more taxing than you may think.”

* *

Back in the Slytherin dungeons, Draco retreated to his room. As he closed the door behind him, he automatically removed his wand to lock it—and then of course, realized he might not be able to.

Nervous, he aimed the wand with more deliberation than he had ever used with this particular spell, and cast with as much concentration and clarity as possible. The doorknob rotated, a sick grinding noise as the inner latch tore through the wood of the door itself. It returned full circle to its original position. He hesitated, deeply uncomfortable. He didn’t dare try again. Since he hadn’t confessed to his Housemates that his magic had been affected, he would have to rely on the likelihood that they would assume his door was locked. Only First Years ever forgot; and they never made the same mistake twice. 

He put his wand down on the nightstand and changed out of his school robes into silver satin pajamas. Walking over to the tiny set of shelves beside his closet, Draco opened the thick tome of Malfoy family history. He had tucked the stolen parchment from Potter’s trunk in the center of its pages; removing it now, he sat on the edge of his bed and took up his wand again. He tapped it to the folded paper, and once more the gypsy script rolled across.

_Messer Moony would like to inform you that a stronger wand will not be of service to you for as long as it’s held against us. Messer Padfoot is disgusted to be taken into Slytherin House, and even more repulsed that you’ve driven your stolen body to the dungeons as well. Messer Prongs agrees with Messers Moony and Padfoot; Messer Prongs threatens that any harm to this body will bring a curse from beyond the veil to your soul. Messer Wormtail would like to reminisce about how skinny little Narcissa Malfoy had always wanted a daughter, and how lucky she is to have gotten one in all but biology._

Draco’s eyes narrowed. 

_Messer Padfoot would like to contradict Messer Wormtail, as the biology in question is surely so tiny that it must fall on the borderline of definitions between the two sexes. Messer Moony would like to add that the midwife most likely suffered from macropsia, and upon seeing the infant clit mistakenly believed it to be a penis…Messer Prongs believes that would explain much about the scion of Malfoy, and points out that this could easily have gone undetected if Narcissa’s only frame of reference for what a penis looks like is the tiny slug between her husband’s legs._

Draco took his wand away and thought. _It knows who I am. It knows the names of my family. It understands what has happened, on some level, between me and Potter. It knows its location without being told. It is intelligent and has a grip on humour, it claims to have emotions and memories._

It’s fiercely loyal.

A knock at the door startled Draco from his thoughts. “It’s me,” Blaise called softly.

Draco got up, hid the parchment back in the Malfoy tome, and opened the door.

“Hey,” Draco said shyly, inviting his boyfriend in and closing the door behind him.

Blaise stood awkwardly. “How you holding up?”

“Fine,” Draco said, equally awkward. He didn’t think he and Blaise had this much distance between them while alone together all summer. He just didn’t know what to do—after all, he was in the enemy’s body.

“Mind if I…?” Blaise motioned to the bed.

“Yeah, sure, sit,” Draco said. He grabbed the chair from his desk and swung it to face the bed. 

Blaise put his hand over Draco’s, still holding the back of the chair. “Sit with me,” he insisted. Draco let go of the chair, and let Blaise keep his hand as they sat beside each other.

“Now, enough with the trollshit,” Blaise said quietly, a small smile curling his lips like ribbons on a present. “You’re not ‘fine’. You’re jumpy, you’re avoiding everyone. You can barely look me in the eye.”

Challenged, Draco forced himself to defiantly look up at Blaise.

“That’s a little better,” he said. “But you haven’t taught these eyes how to lie.”

Draco gave a small laugh, flicked his gaze away. “Alright, you win. I’m not okay. I’m a halfblood, which is creepy enough, and this whole stupid situation puts my family at risk.” Uncomfortable with how serious he had become, Draco flung a limp wrist against his forehead damsel-in-distress style and added: “And the worst part is, I’m absolutely hideous!”

Blaise took Draco’s chin, turning it so that the boy faced him. “You’re not hideous,” he said. “I love you. Even if you looked like Filch.”

Draco smiled. “You’re a sick man,” he teased, voice low. 

“You wouldn’t have it any other way,” Blaise leaned in and kissed him. 

Draco wanted to enjoy kissing his boyfriend. He wanted to pretend everything was fine. The kiss deepened, and Draco tried to concentrate on how good it felt instead of the confusing emotions it caused.

“You taste like apples,” Blaise whispered against him.

Draco jerked away. “That’s enough,” he said harshly. “You’re not kissing me.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re kissing Harry.”

Blaise laughed incredulously. “I’m not thinking about him!”

“I don’t care what you’re thinking about when you kiss him, you’re still kissing him.”

“Draco--”

“Just go, alright? I’m tired.”

Angry, Blaise slammed the door as he left.

Draco closed his eyes. _What just happened?_


	6. The First Lesson

Harry arrived at the Dynamics room early the next day, hoping to get a chance to see Remus before Malfoy showed up. The room was empty. Student desks were crafted like theatre seats and built against the far wall. 

Malfoy arrived perfectly punctual, glaring at the room like it offended him. He strode to the centermost seat and lounged so effortlessly poised that Harry hated him just a little bit more. _He moves in my body better than I do._ Irritated, Harry chose a front row seat off to the far left. 

It wasn’t until the exact moment for classes to start that Remus walked into the room. “I’m going to begin by asking you both to sit next to each other,” Remus said without ceremony. He strode to the front of the desks and placed a beaten up suitcase on the ground.

 _Hi to you too, Harry thought sullenly._

Draco puffed up indignantly. “What does it matter where we sit?!”

“With a class size of two, I don’t want you spaced so far apart. Also, for your first lesson, you will be required to sit near one another.”

Both Harry and Draco refused to surrender territory.

“Alright,” Remus continued. “Mr. Potter, move centre. Mr. Malfoy, come down to the front.”

Harry noticed Remus was having trouble looking him in the eye. _Is he freaked out that I look like Malfoy? Or does he blame me for Sirius?_ Harry was hurt that Remus was being so distant, especially when Harry had been so excited to see him. He quietly grabbed his things and moved as instructed.

Picking up his parchment and pen with an embellished harassment, Draco muttered, “This is what happens when Hogwarts fails to hire a proper professor; we waste class time playing musical chairs.”

“Save your righteousness, I daresay you will have plenty of real reason for it soon,” Remus said quietly. Harry cocked his head, confused. Malfoy rolled his eyes, choosing the desk that left an empty seat between him and Harry. 

“Witches and wizards are not able to manipulate the magic of others,” Remus said, pacing slowly in front of them with his hands clasped behind his back. “I need you to understand that statement: we cannot use another’s magic. Not even with the Imperious curse; that curse forces the person’s mind to commit action they may otherwise not, physical and magical. But make no mistake, it is a leverage of the mind. You do not cast Imperious and have direct access to their magical core; rather, you cast, and you tell them what to do, and they are forced to obey.

“There are several rare instances where magical ability is transformed; certain diseases, infections such as lycanthropy and vampirism, but none so radical as the power of the Switch. You have each been given the ability to do something no one else can: to channel the magic of another. 

“This will be an incredibly difficult feat. But magic wants to be used. This is why accidental magic occurs in untrained children; magic will jump and play, it is meant for release. That is your main advantage: the natural state of magic is one that encourages use. 

“One of the main challenges you will face is that you can no longer command magic.” Remus stopped to look at them briefly. “We are taught as we grow to ‘use’ magic; right now, you can only ‘borrow’ magic. It is not yours, and everything you cast is a request rather than a demand. You will learn to let go of the notion of control.

“Before we can get to any of that, however,” Remus said hastily, “You must first understand your magic better. Mr. Malfoy can attest that it is pure blood tradition to study the components of your wand to best utilize it. Tapping successfully into a foreign magical core will require humility, understanding, and acceptance. You can’t hate the person, the origin of the magic you wish to use, and expect it to work for you. Which brings us to our first lesson.”

Remus knelt down and flicked open the stubby metal tabs on his suitcase. As he lifted the lid, Harry could see that it wasn’t a briefcase after all—rather, like an instrument case, with specialized padding to form-fit the contents it was made for. Remus removed a purple crystal decanter, and two small shot glasses. He placed the three items carefully on the desk in between the two boys.

“This: our first lesson, the only lesson. There is no going forward without this.”

Draco glared suspiciously at the purple decanter, clearly itching to examine its contents closer.

“This is specially brewed form of Veritiserum,” Remus began. “It is formulated mainly for children. You take one shot, and you will truthfully answer one question—it wears off instantly once you’ve given sufficient answer. Contrary to the fuzzy-headed doll-like slump the full version gives the drinker, this version allows you to remain clear. The only side effect is that, for some answers, it will also force the truth of emotion to ring through. Some people have been known to weep or scream with it; this is normal, and you will be entirely calm again once the question has been answered.”

“You can’t be serious,” Harry said. “I’m not taking Veritiserum around Malfoy, I don’t care what kind it is.”

“I am sorry, Harry,” Remus said. He pulled two envelopes from his inside jacket pocket, and stared at them in his hands for a long time. Remus handed each boy an envelope. “I am giving you both a list of questions to ask the other. Questions regarding the body you are in, the home of the magic you want to call upon. It is the best way for you to learn…” He sighed. “Mr. Malfoy, it is vulgar for me to dig into your life with the express purpose of giving your secrets to another. Mr. Potter…Harry. It’s unforgiveable for a friend to give away your secrets without consent; and it’s so much worse for a friend to know these things and have done nothing except this trespass. I’m sorry. Both of you.” He turned his back on his pupils. “You will remain in this room until you have completed the lesson.” He left, and locked the door behind him.

“So that’s that, then?!” Harry demanded, furious. 

Draco was opening his envelope.

“What are you doing?” Harry asked.

“At least attempt deductive reasoning,” Draco said, scanning through the list of questions thoughtfully. 

Harry tore open his envelope, not about to let Malfoy be the only one with access to whatever Remus wrote. “‘Ask me about the time I died’?” Harry read aloud in astonishment.

“Who said you get to go first?!”

“We’re not ‘going’ at all, I’m not answering any questions under Veritiserum with you.”

“Potter, maybe you stopped paying attention, or maybe you simply aren’t capable of complex thought without Granger around to spell it out for you. We cannot do magic without this. Accepting that wand will have been for nothing if you can’t use it. If we have to sacrifice a little dignity in order to stop being relegated to squib level, then I’m willing to do it.”

“There has to be another way,” Harry muttered.

“Well, I could agree with you, but then we’d both be wrong.” Draco read a little further, and then said, “Here’s an easy one. Get the ball rolling. ‘I have known starvation’. That’s stupid, you’re rich, why would you have ever gone without food?”

“I won’t answer that.”

“You will eventually. Lupin said we have to go through the whole sheet.”

“Fuck you, fuck him, fuck the stupid question sheet, I’m not answering.”

And so both Harry and Draco remained locked in the Dynamics room through all their breaks, missing their lunch hour, and well on their way approaching dinner time.

A small sheet of paper wriggled its way from under the door and flew up to Draco. He unfolded it and read aloud: “‘If you each answer one question, I will have a House Elf bring you dinner. PS: I wouldn’t recommend drinking much of anything. Professor Lupin.’” Draco crumpled the paper into a ball and threw it at Harry’s head. “I’m hungry! I’m bored, I’m tired, I want to leave this stupid room. Stop being so stubborn!”

Harry felt Draco’s stomach growl fiercely. This body has probably never been without in its lifetime, and it was not handling a skipped meal with any grace. _How long would Remus honestly keep them in here?_ Harry hadn’t thought his friend would let them miss lunch… 

“Do you really think I’m going to answer any of those questions, and trust you with them?!” Harry demanded, cranky.

“That’s what this is about?! Trust?” Draco laughed. “Okay, I have an idea,” Draco said eagerly, getting up and walking over to Harry. “We can’t do an Unbreakable Vow without magic. We’ve been enemies for the last five years. We have no reason to believe in each other.”

“Pretty much sums it up, yeah.”

“But,” Draco said, “We do know one thing about each other for certain. We both value family above ourselves. I propose we make an oath: We will not discuss anything learned in this godforsaken room with anyone but each other. On the graves of our mothers.”

“Your mother is alive,” Harry countered uneasily.

“You’re so obtuse. The oath would threaten the peace of their afterlives. One day, my mother will die, and I do not want her spirit spending any time in misery because her son is an oath-breaker.”

Harry stared at Draco. “You mean it?” He was searching Draco’s eyes, the all-too familiar green of Lily’s legacy. Draco stuck out his hand. Harry remembered Draco doing this in their First Year, back when he offered friendship; how Harry had refused him. Now here was Draco, hand out with the same vulnerability that he had rebuked years ago…only this time, Draco’s offer was Harry’s hand lingering in the air, waiting. It was surreal. Harry reached out and shook.

“So mote it be,” Draco whispered. “Say it,” he said, squeezing Harry’s hand.

“So mote it be,” Harry repeated.

The boys separated, and sat down at their desks.

“I’m still going first,” Draco said. 

Harry rolled his eyes. 

“Alright. Since you’ve kept us hungry all day, let’s start with ‘I have known starvation’. What in the name of Morgana is that all about?”

Harry sucked a breath between his teeth. _This has to be the worst question on that list for me. If I just answer it now, I can breeze through everything else…_ Harry reached forward and took the lid off the decanter, pouring the tiny shot glass full. He violently slugged back the liquid, not giving himself a chance to think about it. 

“I live with my aunt, my uncle, and my cousin,” the words tumbled forth as he set the glass down again. “They’re muggles, a side of the family who disowned my mother for being a witch. When they were forced to take me in, they hated me for being “a freak”. All my life, I would go for days at a time without food. My door was always locked from the outside, so I could never sneak out and steal food. After my First Year at Hogwarts, I snuck in some treats from the Hogwarts Express cart. But Uncle Vernon searched my trunk when we got home…and a chocolate frog leaped out and landed on his head. Nearly gave him heart failure. He was so furious that I ‘tried to trick them’ and brought ‘dangerous monstrosities’ into their home, that he decided to teach me a lesson. He grabbed me by my hair, which was his favourite way to subdue me, and dragged me into the kitchen. He called me a worm, a filthy soulless worm, and told me I’d eat like a worm. He took fistfuls of dirt from my Aunt’s plant bed, and forced me to eat dirt. He locked me back in my room and laughed when I vomited, telling me to enjoy my stink. They constantly starve me, to this day, and I’ve never told anyone and I can’t believe that _Remus knew all along and still agreed to leave me there._ ” Harry’s racing heart was slowly beginning to return to normal speed with the completion of the question.

Harry cautiously looked at Draco, uncertain what mockery would follow. Draco looked stunned. “And these are the people you champion?” Draco asked softly, incredulously. “The Dark Lord wants these people to answer for the crimes of their ancestors, for the crimes they would continue to commit if they knew about us. They brutalize you and you still fight for them?”

“Because the Dursleys are not all muggles,” Harry said. “There’s the muggle teacher who saw I needed glasses, and from her own pocket money, bought me this pair. She was practically a stranger, and she took care of me. There’s people like Hermione’s parents, who are good and loving…there are so many muggles worth fighting for.”

Draco shook his head. “Anyone would be willing to take you in. Why are you living with them?”

“My turn to ask a question,” Harry said evasively. He took out the paper from his pants pocket and flattened it out. “Okay, ‘Ask me about my first bout of accidental magic’.”

A tiny smile, and Draco daintily poured his shot glass full. “Alright,” he agreed, drinking it in one long swallow. “I was four years old. We have a family tradition on Thursday evenings, to read to each other at the fires in our library. Obviously when I was that young my parents would take turns reading to me. Well. Father had promised to read my favourite story to me that night, and I’d been looking forward to it for days…and then, Father received an owl telling him they had an emergency board meeting that he was urgently needed for. I was so devastated and heart broken, I started crying, and I shouted, ‘No! It’s time for you to be Archer Arboron!’ –because he always read the voice so perfectly, it was like he really was the character. And suddenly he was the character—I had transformed his clothes. Mother was furious, but Father was so damn proud. He swung me around the room and kept admiring all the details I had recreated. He sent the owl back telling the board they would have to do without him for one meeting, and he spent the rest of the night playing pretend with me. It’s my favourite memory of him, and it’s the only time he ever really played with me…” Draco cleared his throat as the potion wore off. “Ignore that last part, it was irrelevant.”

Harry smiled. “Do you still read together on Thursdays?”

Draco bristled, unsure if he was being teased. “Yes. Half an hour after dinner we reconvene in the library. Each night a different person reads aloud, and we all drink wine by the fire, and after the reading we discuss the story.”

Harry was smiling wistfully. “That sounds perfect.”

Draco wasn’t sure what to say to that, after hearing about the muggle monsters Harry put up with.

A crack startled them both, and suddenly there was Dobby with two plates full of food. “Master Harry?” he questioned, taking a tentative step towards Harry, looking fearfully at the face of his old master.

“Yeah, Dobby, it’s me.”

“Oh, Master Harry! Dobby is so sorry for this terrible thing to be happening to you! If there’s anything, anything at all that Dobby can do to help…?”

“Uh, no, that’s just fine Dobby,” Harry said quickly.

Dobby put both plates on their respective tables, and gripped Harry’s hand earnestly. “Master Harry _will_ let Dobby know, yes?”

“Of course, Dobby--”

“Dobby will rally the other Elves, and we will go into the Forest!”

“That’s a bad idea, I don’t want any of you getting hurt.”

Draco rolled his eyes at this as he ate.

“Oh! Master Harry Potter is too kind!” Dobby threw his stick-like little arms around Harry. “His fate is in peril, and he only has worry for Dobby and the other Elves!” Dobby squeezed tighter and then released Harry. “We will not let you languish, Master Harry Potter!” And with another crack, Dobby disappeared again.

“You really need to break up with that crazy elf,” Draco said between bites. “I’m pretty sure he’s picking out curtains.”

“Ew,” Harry muttered. “Dobby’s not crazy, he’s just been horribly abused by his previous owners.” He glared hard at Draco.

“Hey, I was _twelve_ ,” Draco said. “He annoyed me, and I was told he was my slave. Okay, I made him do some pretty shitty things. But I didn’t get it back then.”

“And you do now?”

“I still find him wretchedly annoying, but now I’d simply trade him for a proper elf instead of tormenting him.”

“That’s not getting it. No creature deserves enslavement.”

“There you go again, forcing your ideas of morality on cultures you don’t understand. Do your research on House Elves in relation to ethical relativism and pragmatic ethics, and get back to me when you can intelligently debate instead of whine on without the facts.”

Harry was stumped, so he pretended to righteously ignore Draco and focus on his dinner. 

“My turn for a question,” Draco said, picking lightly at his food and scanning his list. 

“Just read from the top,” Harry complained.

“That’s lazy,” Draco said. “Oh…this can’t be right.” He glared up at Harry, stared back at the parchment, thinking.

“What?” Harry asked.

Shrewdly, Draco watched Harry as he read, “It says here, ‘Ask me about blood magic protection’.” 

Harry choked on his food. _How dare Remus put that down! That is something helping them in this war, not to be told to the son of a Death Eater!_

“You’re right, that’s a mistake,” Harry said, forcing himself to swallow past the obstruction.

“Take a drink and say that,” Draco said, filling Harry’s shot glass from the decanter.

 _Fuck._ Harry hesitated. _Remus thinks he needs to know…so I guess it’s alright…_ Harry drank the shot. “It’s not a mistake,” he corrected himself. “Dumbledore explained to me that the reason I survived the killing curse was because my mother died to save my life, and that created a blood protection spell. It’s why I’m still living with the Dursleys, because through my mother’s blood I can still find sanctuary.”

Draco stared at Harry. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked.

Draco scoffed. “Potter, think of how many mothers have died for their children over the years. No one has ever been able to resist a direct hit from the killing curse.”

Harry’s brows furrowed.

“Dumbledore is taking advantage of the ignorance he imposed on you about our world. He made sure you grew up like a muggleborn, entirely unaware of our world until you came into Hogwarts under his thumb. Blood magic is extremely powerful, and while lineage affects blood magic, lineage alone does not create blood magic. Dumbledore is not telling you the truth.”

Harry thought about Draco’s words. _They made sense._ He had to admit to himself that Dumbledore had only given him nuggets of information through the years, information he should have had in totality the moment Voldemort resurfaced. Dumbledore was still doling out information, like treats. He had explained to Harry that they would have private meetings to review pensieves that would help them learn how to defeat Voldemort. Which meant, by admittance, that Dumbledore continued to keep secrets and manipulate Harry. 

_What the hell do I do now?_

“My turn,” Harry said, fumbling with his question sheet.

“If Dumbledore is claiming you have blood magic protection,” Draco pressed, “Then we need to know for sure. We need to know what it does, what it is.” Draco took a deep breath. “I know how we could do it. But with neither of us able to perform magic yet…We’d need help.”

Harry thought about this. “Hermione--”

“—would freak out about blood magic. Potter, it’s often dark magic. She’s too by-the-book.”

Harry wanted to argue in defense of his friend, but Malfoy was right. 

“Pansy.”

“No.”

“Potter, she’s brilliant. I swear, she could do this.”

“I’m not letting one of your cronies learn what protection I may or may not have and go reporting it to Voldemort!”

The slap caught Harry entirely off guard. Shocked, he felt his cheek as it quickly heated from the force.

“Do not use my mouth to say his name,” Draco said quietly. 

Harry leaned in closer, holding his fork in his hand. “Voldemort.”

“Potter, I’m warning you--”

“And I’m warning _you._ Don’t ever strike me again. Have you ever had to muggle brawl? I have. I will end you.”

Draco quickly began to recalculate the situation, and not liking his odds, he sat back and raised his hands in the air. “Alright. We have an understanding.” He lowered his hands. “You don’t say the name, I don’t smack you silly.”

“I say whatever the fuck I want, you don’t touch me unless you want to be beaten senseless.”

“New deal,” Draco haggled. “You don’t say his name, and I refrain from saying mudblood. I bet it would give Granger nightmares to hear your voice calling her that…”

“You leave Hermione alone!”

“So you agree to the new deal?”

Harry thought about it. It irked him to not use Voldemort’s name, to give him that power. But eliminating hate-speech was tempting… “For now,” Harry agreed.

“Okay. Wanna put the fork down? You look like a deranged Hufflepuff.”

Harry smirked and put his fork down, shoving his plate to the side of his desk.

“So about Pansy--”

“That time I said no? Still stands.”

“Well, then who do you suggest?!”

Harry thought about it. “Remus,” he said.

“What.”

“Remus. It’s perfect. Obviously he knows Dumbledore is lying, and purposely keeping us from information we need. He stayed silent when it was just me,” Harry added bitterly, “But if you literally can’t do magic without knowing, then he has to help. And he knows it. That’s why he put the question on your list!”

Draco groaned and threw his head back dramatically. “Why did it have to be the werewolf…?”

“He’s a good man,” Harry defended. “He’s clever, and a brilliant teacher if you give him a chance.”

“Do you honestly think he’ll go against Dumbledore?”

“Hasn’t he already?”

Draco was quiet. He really, really, did not want to have to rely on the man-beast. But he had to admit, Lupin was their best compromise, and he did seem to already want to assist them…

“Fine,” Draco gave in. Harry beamed at him. “We still have questions to finish, Potter.”

“Right.”

“…and it’s your turn…”

“Oh! Right,” Harry looked down at his sheet. “Okay, this one’s been bugging me. ‘Ask me about the time I died’. What the hell, Malfoy.”

Draco laughed and drank the potion. “I was born dead.”

“Excuse me?”

“I was stillborn. Healer Selena worked over me for minutes, which in that type of situation is ages. Suddenly I gulped some air, opened my eyes, and never cried. Mother couldn’t believe I came back. The way she tells it, Father nearly fainted from relief. Of course, Father says he bellowed ‘That’s my boy!’ and shook the Healer’s hand. In any case, the time I died was the time I was born. Mother sends Healer Selena flowers every year on my birthday.”

They went through a multitude of questions like this. Harry was embarrassed to admit to living in a cupboard for ten years, and Draco’s snobbishness didn’t help; but he didn’t really care about answering questions regarding his eyesight or his own accidental magic. Draco didn’t understand the other boy’s disgust when he was answered about inbreeding through the Malfoy line. He was unperturbed recalling a difficult childhood illness, and laughed when he had to admit to the time he, Crabbe, and Goyle had magicked his dorm room floor and walls to be bouncy back in Year One, and after ricocheting off the walls, ground, and ceiling for the longest time Crabbe landed on Draco’s face and he had to inform Madam Pomfrey that Crabbe had stepped on his nose and broken it.

“She never understood how that could have happened, but we all stuck to our story so vehemently… ‘He stepped on my nose’, how stupid…” Both he and Harry were laughing. “I was just so freaked out by the blood, and how much it _hurt,_ that I didn’t even try to think of a good lie!”

“I still can’t believe you assholes get your own dorm rooms,” Harry said with a laugh.

“Yes well, the best do tend to get certain privileges that aren’t afforded to the masses…”

Harry threw a crust of bread from his left-over dinner plate at him. 

“You dick,” Draco said, discarding the chunk of bread and flicking away the overboard crumbs. “Last question, _finally._ Please tell me this is even, you only have one more right?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, amused at Draco’s fastidiousness as he continued to pick and flick real and imagined food offenses from his robe.

“Okay. It says, ‘Ask me about my scar’. That’s a waste of a question. Everyone knows about your scar.”

Harry slugged back his shot, and said, “They know how I got it, but they don’t know what it does.” 

Draco tensed up. “What, can it change colour to match your outfits or reflect your moods or something?” Draco said, trying to hide his anxiety behind jokes.

“No,” Harry said, forced to answer the joke as the Veritiserum continued through him. “It connects me to — _him_ —to Voldemort. I’m sorry, it’s making me say his name,” Harry added quickly, seeing the brimstone in Draco’s eyes. Draco relaxed a notch. “I managed to close my mind to him last summer…after Sirius died. But before, I could see visions of what he was doing, and he could force fake visions into my dreams…” Harry exhaled loudly. 

“How did you accomplish this?” Draco asked darkly.

“What?”

“How did you close your connection to him? Was it a potion?”

“No, I had to learn Occlumency--”

Draco swore. “Damnit, Potter. _I can’t do magic._ ”

Harry froze.

“Could he see you? Did he have visions of you?”

“We don’t think so, no. He would have acted if he had,” Harry said quickly.

Silence. “Lupin had better be as good a teacher as you claim,” Draco said. “I can’t have windows in my head open to the Dark Lord. If he ever learned how to look in…Potter, he would kill my family if he knew about any of this.”

“He’s not going to find out,” Harry said.

Draco rubbed the lightning bolt scar thoughtfully. “Just go, ask your last question.”

“Okay…” Harry hated that his body was putting someone else’s family in danger. “It just says, ‘Ask about my eleventh birthday’.”

Draco’s head snapped up and the colour drained from his face. “No,” he whispered.

“No what?”

“How could he possibly…” Draco trailed off. “I can’t answer that.”

Harry sighed. “Think of all the shit I had to tell you today. You can answer about your birthday party.”

“It wasn’t a party,” Draco said. “And I can’t--I’ve never--I’m not telling you.”

“Malfoy,” Harry started, irritated. 

“No,” Draco repeated, fear lancing through anger. “I’m sorry Potter. It’s been fun, but question time is over. I’m not answering.”

Harry paused. “If you don’t answer, I can’t do magic.”

“This isn’t an exact science. I’m sure you can do magic with everything else you’ve learned about that body. You don’t need to know every little thing.”

“This sounds major.”

“I said no.” Draco pushed up from his chair, walking over to the door. It remained locked. He started knocking, then banging and kicking, screaming at the structure that he was _done_ and that Remus had _no right._

Harry went over to the boy, putting a hand on his shoulder. Draco spun around, wild eyed. “I can’t, Potter. Don’t ask.”

“How much do you want to be back in your own body?” Harry asked. 

“More than anything,” Draco said, trying to calm down.

Harry hated himself a little, as Draco stepped willingly into the trap. _Has to be done,_ Harry’s Slytherin side whispered.

“You said yesterday that I’m a pivotal figure in the war. That’s true. If I face the Dark Lord without magic...he will kill me. And you will lose your body forever.”

Harry couldn’t remember seeing his own face so young looking, so deeply ashamed and scared.

He waited as Draco digested this. Slowly, Draco walked back to their desks. Harry followed.

“I need--” Draco cleared his throat, trying again. “I need you to not look at me. You can watch me take the shot, and then just turn your back okay?”

“Okay,” Harry said. His gut twisted with guilt. 

Draco’s hand shook as he poured from the decanter.

“Do you need--?” Harry started.

“I got it.” Draco set the purple crystal decanter down with a heavy thud. Hands leaning on the desk’s edge, he took a deep breath. “You remember your oath, yeah?”

“Of course,” Harry said.

“Well, this one includes me. I don’t want you ever talking to me about this. This never gets brought up again.”

“Alright,” Harry said quietly. “Unless it’s blocking my ability to relearn magic--”

“ _Fine, UNLESS._ ” Draco spat, hating the caveat. 

“Alright,” Harry agreed again.

Draco picked up the shot glass, and said quietly, “You’ll remember to turn around?”

“Yeah, I promise.”

Draco drank it down, and threw the tiny glass to the ground, shattered. Harry flinched, and turned.

“Pure blood families adhere to certain traditions,” Draco started, voice low and quiet. Harry had to strain to listen.

“One of those is called the Preparation.” _I can’t, I can’t…_ But Veriteserum is always stronger than will. “When the family is seriously considering an appropriate betrothal for their child, they submit that child for sexual learning with a professional. So that child can please their future spouse, and therefore be of greater value in the betrothal bargaining process.

“My eleventh birthday,” Draco’s voice faltered out entirely. The potion pumped harder, and forced his voice open again. “My eleventh birthday, Father had hired someone for me. Eleven is the year we truly grow up, the year Hogwarts opens its doors to us; the year the Ministry considers us responsible and ready for magical training. Father felt that eleven was auspicious.

“He didn’t explain anything beforehand. No one did. I didn’t even know what sex was, or that girls had anything different than us down there. It was never spoken. Sure, I had started masturbating, and thinking of blokes…but it was innocent. It was discovering pleasure. I didn’t know about sex, I just thought about kissing, petting.

“Father led me into a room of the manor that was built specifically for the Preparation. I had never been allowed in there before, and when I walked in it was so red. The walls, the roses, the blankets…everything, red.

“He told me to go inside and to listen to my teacher, that she was going to help me. He told me to do whatever she asked. And he left me there.

“This older woman walks in. She’s maybe eight years younger than my parents. She starts…” Draco felt everything, fresh as if it were happening right that moment. His whole body trembled, and he quickly sat down before his legs gave out. “She starts undressing. And I thought it was funny. And…suddenly, everything was wrong. She breathed in my ear as she took my clothes, and I pushed her away…But then she kept saying this is what my Father wants. Do I want to make him proud, or do I want to make him angry…? I felt so sick, I…I didn’t know what to do. So I let her, do whatever. And I just stood there, crying like an idiot. When she couldn’t get me to, ah, respond...no matter what she did to it…she asked me if I had a type. That’s when I discovered she was a metamorphmageous. I had never met one before, and watching such impressive magic helped calm me. I watched her transform to a schoolgirl, to a celebrity, to a Quidditch gal, stroking my soft cock the whole time and my body just refusing any interest. Then, she transformed into a man. I think she just wanted me to stop crying, I think she did it hoping to make me laugh. But…my cock twitched. The image of this naked man excited me, even though I desperately didn’t want to be there. I just reacted. And she laughed at me.

“She said my future wife was likely to get a lot of ass-fucking if my inclinations were anything to go by, and that she’d be doing her a favour to teach me what it felt like. She tried to put a finger inside of me, and I screamed. Father came in, and she stood up and told him ‘Your son is a queer’, and stormed out.” Silent tears tracked Draco’s face as he whispered, “He looked at me, and asked if it was true. When I said yes…he looked so disappointed. He stood there in the doorway, and told me we don’t ever need to discuss this. To get dressed for dinner. And he left me there.”

Draco rubbed his hands over his face, trying to quell the crying. After a long pause, Harry whispered, “I’m so sorry…”

“Don’t,” Draco said, voice shaking. “Just don’t.” He took a deep breath. “At least it postponed his betrothal decisions. His stock is a lower value than he had thought, so he had to review options…” He looked down at the desk, and saw both his and Harry’s question sheets had begun to glow softly. “Look at this,” he said, motioning to the parchment. 

Harry turned, and his brow furrowed at seeing the papers glowing. “Why are they doing that?”

“Probably lets the wolf know we’re done,” Draco said, struggling to get his voice steady again.

Harry didn’t have the heart to berate Draco for his prejudice. He didn’t know what to say at all. He put his hand over Draco’s. “Thank you,” he said.

“I did it for me, Potter,” Draco said. But he didn’t move his hand. Harry smiled.

The door opened, and both boys drew their hands back as if they’d been burnt. Remus walked up to them, guilt and worry clearly in his eyes. “It’s done, then,” Remus said quietly.

Draco slowly turned to look at him. It was disturbing, the deliberate slowness, the cool controlled movements and stone-like precision of every hardened muscle in his face, contrasting with his eyes. His eyes, wielding hatred and rectitude like twin swords, flashing in the moment before the killing strike. “How did you get information about my eleventh birthday?” The question was insouciantly posed, but buried in every syllable was blood.

Remus did not try to dodge the subject or make excuses. “With you being a pureblood, I knew you would have had to go through the Preparation; and since you’re only a year away from being a legal adult, I assumed you had already crossed this threshold. It was easy to track down the woman and question her. I thought I was simply going to learn when you lost your virginity; she alluded that more had happened. To her credit, she refused to answer my questions. I had to use Legilimency against her.” 

Draco took a hard breath. “You obliviated her after, right? If you didn’t, she’ll run straight to my Father--”

“I did.”

Draco stared at Remus for a long time, calculating something the two Gryffindors couldn’t read. Finally, he said to Harry, “He’s resourceful. He’ll do.”

Remus looked confused. He was expecting significantly more backlash than the cryptic comment.

“You gave us the question about blood magic protection,” Harry stated. “Will you help us get to the bottom of it?”

The man nodded, relieved. “It’s necessary,” he said. He was grateful the boys had jumped a step ahead of him, seeking his assistance before he had to impose it. Their willingness to ask him for help was a form of forgiveness. “Blood magic is tricky, and if you’re unsure of it…it can go very bad, very quickly.”

“Why did Dumbledore lie about it?” Harry asked. The question slipped and fell hard.

Remus sighed. “I don’t know, Harry. Honestly,” he said, seeing the suspicion across them both. “He only told me because he thought you might ask me about it. I don’t know why he wants you to believe it, and I don’t know what it’s covering up. But if I know Albus, he would not want you unravelling his deception, even if he knew Mr. Malfoy could not access magic without doing so. If we’re going to do this, I need you both to swear to not confront him with it.”

Harry furrowed his brow, unsure if he was okay with that provision. Draco nodded, saying, “It’s better for us that way. We have more power if he doesn’t realize we escaped his ruse.”

“Then it’s settled? We’ll explore this next class,” Remus said. Both boys agreed.

* *

When Draco entered the Slytherin dungeons, he went directly to his room. The night was late, and he felt raw, gutted. He went straight to his room, ignoring the protests from his friends who hadn’t seen him all day, ignoring that Blaise was ignoring him. 

But despite his efforts, he couldn’t sleep. Swaddled in the blankets, he didn’t feel safe. He got up and shoved his dresser in front of his door, thinking his unease came from not being able to lock it. But no; he remained hyper-aware of everything, an almost panicked sensation creeping through him. He snarled, beating a fist against his pillow, trying to expel the savagery closing its teeth against his heart. The humiliation, pain and anger from exposing his worst memory kept gnashing him to pulp. Suddenly, Harry’s words came into his head, about living in a cupboard for a decade: _Sometimes, I actually miss it,_ he had admitted, _because it was actually mine. I sleep in Dudley’s second bedroom, and it will never be mine. At least that cupboard was a home to me._ Grabbing his pillow, Draco got up and went to his wardrobe, climbed inside, and closed the door behind him. 

His whole body relaxed. A part of him felt at home, and recognized this small space as safe. Draco smiled as he drifted off to sleep.


	7. Frustration

Despite it being a weekend, Harry woke painfully early. He was determined to use the shower stalls with privacy. As he slid his bed-curtains aside and padded quietly to the showers, he felt like he was forgetting something…and then he realized what was nagging at his mind. His glasses. It had been routine for so long to wake up and automatically reach for his glasses…but of course, Draco’s body didn’t need them, and didn’t know to reach for them.

He stripped down and stepped into the shower stall nearest the door. He figured that way, when he stepped out again to get his towel, if the main door began to open he could just push against it. 

_Stupid fucking Seamus,_ he thought to himself as he turned the water on. By the time Harry had returned to Gryffindor tower last night, Seamus had rallied McLaggen, Dean, and _even Ron_ into his campaign to have a laugh at Malfoy’s equipment. Harry had snarled at them to knock it off and stormed to his bed. He knew they all had reason to hate Malfoy, and all they saw was this huge opportunity to really get to the git. _But they didn’t hear him last night._ The thought startled Harry. He reached for the shampoo, his brows furrowed, wondering at the quiet change from “I don’t want them to harass me” to protecting Malfoy.

The main door flung open. Harry almost slipped, he was so startled, but the two boys who entered had zero interest in anyone using the first stall. Harry listened to them hurriedly pulling pajamas off each other as they laughed, the unmistakable sound of sloppy kissing as they tumbled into a single shower stall. “I think someone’s here,” one of the boys said. Harry was pretty sure it was a Seventh Year guy, Stanson-something. “Who cares? --if he wants to stay he can buy tickets to the show!” More laughter, then moaning. 

Harry dunked his soapy hair in the water and barely remembered to turn off the taps as he threw his towel around his waist, grabbed his pajamas and ran out.

Still soaking wet, with patches of shampoo suds polka dotting his hair, Harry quickly stepped into the bathroom adjoined to the Sixth Year boy’s room. He dried himself off, awkwardly angled his head in the sink to get the last of the shampoo out, and towel-buffed his hair. 

More problematic, however, was his erection.

He couldn’t get the sounds and shadows of those boys out of his head. _Stop it,_ he told himself. _You like women. Malfoy likes men. Don’t feel his reactions. Stop it._ But Draco’s body was just as stubborn as his personality. He closed his eyes and tried to slow his breathing. 

Unconsciously, his left hand slowly moved closer to his groin—he paused, realizing what he was doing—his hand hovered, so close. He ached for it.

He punched the wall as hard as he could. Immediately, his cock stopped swelling as his knuckles began. A faint purple could already be seen, and he couldn’t flex his fingers all the way. 

Harry, towel around his waist and only one-handed, left to clumsily grab some muggle clothes and returned to the bathroom to get changed. He was horribly frustrated trying to do up the button on his jeans while his dominant hand was stiff and painful. When he was finally dressed, he went downstairs to wait for Hermione. He needed her to heal his quite possibly broken hand.

Hermione, born a morning-person, came downstairs early as usual—about half an hour after Harry had chosen to wait for her. 

“Hey, Hermione,” Harry said, standing up quickly. He was grateful no one else had come downstairs yet.

“Harry! What are you doing up?”

“Actually, I need your help,” he said quickly, moving towards the couch so they could sit together.

“Of course,” she said, walking to the couch and taking a seat. “I was just heading to the library before breakfast. Is this about last night? Ronald was positively horrid.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Yeah, they’re being berks. But whatever, I can handle them.” Harry hesitated uncomfortably. “What I need to ask is pretty private, could you cast for us? You know, in case someone comes down?”

Hermione pulled out her wand. “Muffliato,” she said. “Now you have me worried. What’s going on?”

Harry held out his injured hand. “Well, first, I--”

“Harry what did you do?!”

“I was--”

“Oh my god Harry, I think it’s broken!”

“Yeah, it’s pretty—”

“Were you fighting?!”

“Hermione!” Harry said with a laugh. “Take a breath! No, I wasn’t fighting!”

Hermione, looking sheepish, gently took his hand and looked at it closer. She took her wand from the special hip holster Ron had gotten her for her birthday, and cast the healing charm across his knuckles. Harry sighed in relief, flexing his hand appreciatively.

“Thanks,” he said.

“What happened?” she pressed.

“I punched a wall.”

“Why on earth did you do that?!”

“That’s…the private part,” Harry started. “Look, I wasn’t going to tell anyone this, so you gotta swear to keep it to yourself, yeah?”

Hermione narrowed her eyes. “Does Ron already know?” Harry could sense the danger in that question.

“Ron is the last person I would want to know.”

Hermione put her wand back in its holster thoughtfully. “Well, I’m glad you two weren’t keeping me out, but I feel bad turning around and keeping him out…”

“Please, Hermione,” Harry said. “I really need you, and he can’t know. This is Malfoy’s secret. You know Ron, he wouldn’t keep it.”

“Why do you care about keeping Malfoy’s secret?” Hermione asked cautiously.

Harry struggled with words for a moment. “This stupid mess is my fault, and I wouldn’t have known this if we’d never switched bodies…”

“Harry, it’s not your fault.”

“Look, if everything were normal and I somehow found it, I’d probably tell Ron. But things are different, and I feel responsible. And Malfoy’s trusting me to keep it on the down-low.”

“He’s trusting you, really? You believe that?”

“Okay, his exact words were ‘counting on my insufferable Gryffindor chivalry’, but for him that’s like trust.”

Hermione smirked. She thought a moment, indecisive…but she wanted to help Harry. “Okay,” she said. “I promise.”

“Alright,” Harry said, taking a breath. “Malfoy’s gay.”

Hermione’s eyes widened. “Oh.”

“Yeah. So…I need you to help me find a spell or a potion or something that can, you know, turn off sexual attraction. Temporarily. Cuz…with me being in his body…”

“Oh my god,” she said, grinning. “You feel….for guys?”

“Yeah,” Harry admitted. “That’s where the punching-the-wall thing stems from. I needed distraction. Badly.”

“From who?” Hermione asked saucily.

“Two blokes wanting an early shag in the showers.”

Hermione’s jaw dropped. “Is that a thing that happens regularly?!”

“How should I know? I don’t usually go in the men’s showers at sneaky hours of the morning and night!”

“Okay, okay,” Hermione said. “I haven’t heard of something to turn off attraction. But if Amortentia exists, which compels lust, it stands to reason that its opposite would exist. I’ll look into it.”

“You’re the best. I knew I could count on you.”

Hermione rolled her eyes playfully. Harry started to stand up. “Wait!” Hermione said, standing with him, not wanting to break the privacy charm as a handful of Gryffindors had come downstairs during their conversation. “So…right now, in Malfoy’s body, you like boys.”

“I feel what he feels, yes.” Harry said, feeling defensive and trying to clarify.

“Right,” Hermione said. “Do you still like girls?”

“Yeah. I do. I always have.”

“But you’ve never liked boys, before...?”

“No,” Harry said, although the direct question made him internally pause; he realized he had simply never thought about it before. His crushes were few and far between, really only including Cho and Ginny. _Could a guy ever make the list?_ He shoved the momentary confusion to the side. “No way,” he repeated. “I’m straight.”

“The lady doth protest too much,” teased Hermione with a curious smile as she left.

“I’m not a lady!” Harry reflexively retorted, not recognizing the quote--only to realize that the common room could hear him again. The fifth year girls who sat gathered together with their Divination tea cups started giggling at him. 

“Keep laughing, and your tea leaves will all feature the Grimm,” Harry snapped as he went back up the boy’s staircase. 

* *

At breakfast later that morning, Harry didn’t even make it to the Gryffindor table before trouble.

“Potter!” Draco huffed, standing in front of him. 

Harry sighed. “Not now, Malfoy, I’ve had a really shitastic morning--”

“You shave.”

Harry stared at him incredulously. “Um, yeah?”

“You selfish, stupid, muggle-raised bastard!”

“I’m missing something.”

“Yeah, it’s called a brain,” Draco sneered. “Great Merlin, Potter! When you enter our world, you should damn well learn how to function in it! Do you know how many times I cut myself this morning, because you don’t practice general grooming charms?!” Harry barely opened his mouth before Draco was continuing his rant. “Twelve. Twelve times! I’ve never been so humiliated! I had to get Goyle to heal my face—your stupid face! So I wouldn’t have to be seen with disgusting bleeding sores all over!”

“You never learned how to shave?” Harry said with a laugh.

“Of course not! It’s vulgar, and not nearly precise enough for my complexion.”

Harry snorted. “Oh, my god.”

“It’s simple, Potter. You do a charm once a month, it takes two hours--”

“More like twelve, when you’re Draco,” Blaise said over Draco’s shoulder. Draco scowled at him in annoyance as the boy chuckled and walked off. _He ignores me, then makes fun of me in public?_

“TWO HOURS,” Draco repeated at Blaise’s back. He looked at Harry again. “--And you’re perfectly smooth for the rest of the month. But oh no. Your ignorance means I have to SHAVE, every day, like a commoner!”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Well, sucks to be you, then.”

“This is all your fault,” Draco said, storming off to the Slytherin table.

Harry let out a frustrated growl as he made his way to the Gryffindor table. No one could get under his skin the way that jackass could. _Literally,_ Harry thought with sardonic bite. He wondered if the Switch chose them because they could affect each other so strongly…

He sat across from Ginny, and she smiled at him. “Ready for Quidditch practice?” She asked. “God, yes,” Harry said. He couldn’t wait to be on a broom, vent some of his anger in the air. It was different, being Captain, but he was still eager. 

“Hey mate,” Ron said as he sat next to Harry. Harry glared at his best friend. 

“You jump on the band wagon with those assholes who want me to strip down so you can all have a good laugh, and now you’re my mate. Really?”

“Yeah Ron,” Ginny said. “One Weasley wanting his pants off at a time, and I called dibs.” She winked at Harry. Harry smirked at her. _How come she started making all these jokes now that I’m in Malfoy’s body?_ He liked it, but it was strange and made him uncomfortable at the same time.

“Ginny, your fixation was cute in Year One. But now it’s gross. Stop it,” Ron said. 

Ginny stuck her tongue out at him.

“And Harry,” Ron said, clapping a hand on his back. “Don’t get so worked up. It’s just a lark, yeah? You’d do the same if I had switched bodies with him.”

“No, I wouldn’t. Because I respect you.”

“This is so not about you!” Ron said, laughing.

“Being in this body makes me disagree,” Harry argued moodily.

Ron loaded more food on his plate. “Are you and Hermione on the same cycle or something? She’s been pissy with me too.”

Ron froze as a shrilled voice behind him answered, “Maybe ‘she’s been pissy’ because you’re too busy snogging Lavender and leaving me to do all our Prefect duties alone!” Hermione sat on the other side of Harry, absolutely furious.

“Hermione, I didn’t mean--”

“It doesn’t matter. I don’t care. I don’t know why I expect anything better from you anyway.”

Harry seldomly felt as awkward as he did sitting in between his two best friends when they were fighting. 

Lavender, having snuck up behind Ron, put her tiny hands across his eyes. “Guess whooooo,” she sang.

Ron sighed. “Lav, not now--”

“You guessed right!” She chirped, swinging herself into his lap and giggling. Ron smiled at her, enjoying the positive attention centered so solely on him. _Better than getting chewed out by Hermione._ He teasingly admonished that he couldn’t possibly eat his breakfast with her in his lap. Lavender picked up a bowl of fruit salad and began hand-feeding him pieces.

“If you’ll excuse me,” Hermione said quietly, getting up again without having eaten anything. Harry quickly gathered a croissant into a napkin for Hermione and hurried after his friend.

* *

Having comforted Hermione longer than he realized, Harry was now late to Quidditch practice. It was going to be hard enough to get the team to rally to him as their Captain while he looked like their competition, and now he’s not even on time. Great. 

He stopped short when he got to the pitch: there was his team, fuming…

And there was the Slytherin team. Practicing.

“What’s this?!” Harry demanded as he entered the field.

“That’s what we were going to ask you!” Demelza said. 

“Harry, the signup sheet says you cancelled practice,” Katie explained.

“Which he wouldn’t do without telling us!” Ron argued. 

“He didn’t know anything about it being cancelled!” Ginny defended.

“Oi, it’s your signature, mate,” Jimmy Peakes piped up.

“Let me see,” Harry said, storming over to the signup post. There was his signature, cancelling the meet. 

“Malfoy!” Harry shouted. Draco flew down and walked up to Harry, looking smugly victorious.

“Now, now, Potter. Don’t go blaming others for your regrets.”

“I didn’t cancel. You did!”

“Not according to the sign up post.”

“YOU have my handwriting!” Harry spat. “You just backdated it and then had Urquhart sign your team up!”

“Interesting theory. Too bad it can’t be proved.”

“You are such a miserable cheat!”

“I’d love to stay and swap insults, but my team has a practice to be getting on with.” And with that, Draco kicked off and flew back up to his team mates, who were laughing and whooping at having driven the Gryffindors off the pitch. 

“Some Captain,” Ritchie Coote muttered as he and Peakes left.

“Wood never would have let such a ridiculous scam happen,” Katie whispered to Demelza as they left.

“It’s MALFOY’S FAULT, not Harry’s!” Ron shouted after them. “Blimey, you’d figure they would see that.” 

Ginny shook her head. “Pay no attention to them Harry. They’ll come around.”

But Harry barely heard them. He was consumed with Draco, wanting to snap the boy’s head back and retaliate in a way that would dig into him. He wanted to leave his mark.

“Coming, Harry?” Ginny asked gently.

“No, you go ahead. I’m going to watch the practice,” Harry said, watching Draco fly.

Ginny shrugged and walked back up to the castle with her brother.

The snitch appeared; Draco was trying hard to adjust to using his right hand, when his mind was used to strategizing to favour his left side. Adrenaline spiking, Harry mounted his broom and aimed at Draco, bodychecking the Slytherin.

Draco snarled and slammed back against Harry. “Get off the pitch, we’re practicing!”

“Can’t practice without a snitch,” Harry said, diving after the golden ball.

Draco swore, and sped up. 

They chased the snitch just as hard as they would in any official game. When the little ball did a hairpin turn high above the bleachers, both Harry and Draco had trouble matching the turn: Harry, used to requiring less force with his slight weight, accidentally overshot the turn as he didn’t put enough charge into it, while Draco careened off course as his violent turn gave greater gain with Harry’s body. They corrected quickly enough, speeding after the snitch as it swooped up towards the goalposts.

Several Slytherins were shouting at them, and the team Beater purposely aimed a bludger at the pair of them, not caring who it hit. The bludger wailed through the air and temperamentally did a 180, smacking Vaisey hard in the shin. 

But neither Harry nor Draco registered the team around them. Their world had boiled down to beating the other.

The exhilaration of the hunt, the danger of their speed, the way Draco expertly matched his every move--everything kaleidoscoped into a picture Harry didn’t understand but made his chest swell and lighten.

The snitch spinned and zoomed towards the ground. Draco was ahead of Harry, the two boys straining to match the speed of the ball. The kamikaze ball streaked towards the sand, not even executing its signature darting flight pattern. Harry was wildly trying to calculate how and when to turn up as he matched Draco neck-and-neck. The snitch hit the ground, sand spraying around it as it chose that moment to disappear from play. Harry and Draco crashed and crumpled into the sand. 

To Harry’s amazement, Draco was laughing. “That was fantastic!” He whooped. He laid on the sand, stretched out with his broom cradled in one arm. “Thanks, Potter. You just gave me the best practice of my life.”

Harry was both annoyed and exhilarated. He had wanted to ruin practice for the little shit, not make it more fun. Yet, he found himself grinning, and had to admit this was exactly what he had needed. “You absolute wanker,” he said.

“Don’t tell me that wasn’t awesome.”

“I’m still mad at you.”

“It’s what you do best. You’re a sanctimonious prick. Wanna go again?”

As if on cue, Harry spotted the little golden ball just down field. 

_Fuck it,_ Harry thought. “You’re on.”


	8. The Message

Sunday was a crisp autumn day, the type of perfectly-weathered day Slytherins loved to stay indoors. When the light gave the Hogwarts grounds a nectarine glow, it made the Black Lake glitter in a way no other season could match. The Slytherin dungeons, being underground, had massive glass panes that showed the inside of the lake. It was a reverse aquarium: instead of peering into glass containers, you were in the container peering outward. Most of Slytherin House preferred to stay in the common room to socialize and watch the merpeople and other sea creatures swim.

Draco and Goyle were sitting in black leather armchairs flush against a full-wall pane of glass, playing wizards chess. Draco loved playing chess with Greg; his slow, quiet ways made many people think he was dumb—even Greg himself—but Draco knew his friend wasn’t stupid. Draco’s comfort with his silence let Greg relax, which is how they became such close friends while growing up together. In many instances, Draco enjoyed silence. It meant you could truly be yourself, not hiding behind the convention of small talk and inane chatter. Allowing silence meant trust and intimacy. He found nothing more repulsive than the flighty men and women who were so drunk on their own egos that language simply drooled down their chins in a constant stream of embarrassment.

Draco’s bishop was brutalizing a pawn when Crabbe approached them. “Guys,” Crabbe started excitedly. “I finally got the bubblehead charm working. Later tonight, let’s jump in the lake and swim over the girl’s dorm windows, see what we can see, yeah?”

Draco grinned. He loved Vincent’s roguishness and disregard for rules. He and Greg were a great balance.

“Still gay, Vince,” Draco said affectionately. 

“Yeah, well…” Vince grumbled. He believed if he fully accepted gay men that others would question his own sexuality. He desperately did not want that, and was not strong enough to combat it with anything other than mild homophobia. “Maybe a naked girl would help with that.”

If anyone else had said the same thing to him, Draco would have snapped. But this was Crabbe. “Maybe I’ll be struck by lightning, but I don’t think so.”

Vince rolled his eyes. “You in?” He asked Greg.

Greg shook his head, then looked up at his friend. “The giant squid will do unspeakable things to you if you try it.”

“You guys are such losers,” Vince pouted, leaving.

“And he wonders why he’s single,” Draco said. Greg gave a tiny smile, mostly a crinkling of his eyes than any mouth movement. 

“Speaking of single…Did you and Blaise break up?” Greg asked in his gentle-direct manner. 

“No,” Draco insisted. 

“It looks that way,” Greg said, ordering his pawn ahead.

Draco sighed. “We just had a bad fight, that’s all. He’ll come back. He always does.”

Greg looked Draco in the eye. “You mean, a real fight? Not just another drama spat you like to goad him into?”

“Yeah,” Draco whispered. 

“So it looks serious because it _is_ serious, is what you’re saying.”

“It’s fine,” Draco said. “It’s just…” He paused, instructing his knight to move. “It’s just that when we were kissing, he commented about how Harry tastes. He was getting off on it, on kissing someone else.”

Goyle furrowed his brow thoughtfully. “You said ‘Harry’.”

Draco froze. “I meant Potter.”

“I think I know what you meant better than you do right now,” Greg said, adding quick instruction to his rook. “You’ve always been… possessive of your rivalry with him. You always say you know his every move, you go out of your way for his attention—that Dementor prank in third year? How long did it take us to get that together, just so you could capture his focus?”

“That prank was hilarious,” Draco argued weakly.

“Maybe you’re angry with Blaise for kissing someone else, and maybe you’re jealous that it’s ‘Harry’.”

Draco felt the _click_ , and realized the truth in the phrase ‘you can’t unring a bell’. He couldn’t not-know the realization he just had.

“Oh, no,” Draco mumbled, crumbling his face into his hands.

Greg reached across the board, putting a comforting hand on Draco’s knee. “Your move.”

* *

Harry had been researching the Switch for hours when he conclusively reached evidence that shocked him.

“Nothing!” He yelled, throwing the heavy book on the table. “The Switch acts like any common snake! It doesn’t do anything that would distinguish its patterns. It could be anywhere in that damn forest!”

“My text says the same thing so far,” Ron said, flipping a page and trying to pay attention to the words.

“Mine too,” Hermione admitted. “But maybe this tome or Ron’s will have additional information…”

“I’m going to talk to Hagrid,” Harry said stubbornly.

“Great idea!” Ron said, closing his book at standing up.

“Ron, we need you to finish that book!” Hermione said. 

“Right…” Ron sat back down, disappointed to return to the dry text. Then he realized: he’d be alone with Hermione. “Er, Harry, you should still go talk to Hagrid. I mean, nothing you could do here, right?”

“Right,” Harry agreed, looking between his friends. He smiled, wished them luck, and left the library.

As Harry walked down the field towards Hagrid’s hut, he wished he had brought his Gryffindor scarf. The sun was warm, but the wind promised winter. Harry knocked on the door, and heard Fang barking incessantly in welcome. Hagrid opened the door, and Fang bounded out to leap up on Harry. The boy laughed, kneeling down and rubbing the dog’s ears and head playfully. 

“Don’ mind ‘im, Harry,” Hagrid said. “He’s bin cooped up all day, I’ve bin a bit selfish, wantin’ some cozy time with ‘im while I rest up. Wha’ brings yeh here?”

“Rest up?” Harry asked, looking up at his friend. That’s when he noticed Hagrid’s arm was in a sling, with gelatinous leaves coating his bare forearm. “What happened?”

“Come inside, I’ll tell yeh all ‘bout it, quite a good story, I made a new friend.” He beckoned Harry in. Fang whimpered, looking longingly out at the grass. “Oh, a’right. Go stretch yer legs fer a bit.” Fang happily rushed out. “It’s a good thing he’s such a coward, I never have ter worry abou’ him goin’ too far,” Hagrid said as he closed the door. He plucked the copper kettle from the fire as he beckoned Harry to sit, pouring them each a cup of tea. He sat down heavily. “Don’ look so worried,” Hagrid said. “It takes more ‘n this to get me down. Professor Sprout worked with Madam Pomfrey to make sure the best herbs were used. I swear, it’ll be jus’ like new by mornin’.”

“That’s good to hear,” Harry said. He took a sip of tea, and spat it back into the cup as hurriedly as he could. “Um…Hagrid, what is this?” He asked.

“Jus’ plain old chamomile,” Hagrid said. “I’m told tha’ the more rest I get today, the speedier the healin’ will be.” Harry looked sadly into his cup and put it back on the table. He loved chamomile—and it tasted disgusting now. _Too basic for Malfoy, I suppose._

“So how did it happen?” 

“There I was,” Hagrid began. “In the Forbidden Forest with Professor Sprout las’ night, huntin’ for tha’ Switch--”

“You got hurt trying to find my cure?”

“Now, Harry, don’ think of it tha’ way,” Hagrid said warningly. “You ought to know nothin’ is gonna keep me from volunteerin’. It’s me choice ter make, which means yeh don’ get ter carry any guilt fer it. Yeh hear?” Harry nodded. “Alright. So I’m in the Forest, and wouldn’ yeh know it, I found the most magnificent Catoblepas I’ve ever encountered.”

“Cato…?”

“Catoblepas,” Hagrid repeated. “They’re like…like a cow and a buffalo, mixed together. But with a really long neck, an’ a massive, heavy head…the poor darlins must’ave the most terrible neck pains. This gorgeous creature, he was chewin’ some grass, and I jus’ had ter give him some love. Terribly lonely creatures, the Catoblepas, ‘cuz their stare can kill yeh and their breath is toxic. It’s not their fault,” Hagrid said, misty eyed, taking a sip of his tea. “Ahh, he was a beaut. I came up ter his side flank and gave him a good pettin’, and talked ta him fer a bit. He was such a sweetheart. Told ‘im to remember me and not be a stranger next time I came back. The Catoblepas turned his head towards me, prolly wantin’ a nuzzle, and he breathed on me arm. Totally accidental.”

Harry didn’t look convinced.

“A’right, so he stared at me a bit. I was the one who told ‘im not ter forget me! He was jus’ tryin’ ter remember, tha’s all. He meant no harm. Professor Sprout came in time, tha’s all that matters. An’ I made a new friend!”

“You nearly died.”

“I think I’ll name him Gerdie,” Hagrid said happily.

“Just out of curiosity, how does Professor Sprout say this all happened?” 

“Oh, she just didn’ understand,” Hagrid said dismissively. “She said he reared back and tried ter stab me with his horns before openin’ his maw and exhalin’ a gust of toxins. But it wasn’ really like that. Gerdie is just sensitive.”

“Sounds legit,” Harry said, knowing an argument would get him nowhere. “Hagrid, you know the Forest better than anyone, right?”

“Right yeh are,” Hagrid proudly thumped his cup.

“What are the chances we’ll find the Switch?”

The man deflated a little. “Oh…well, now, the importan’ thing is ter keep hope. An’ yeh know I will never give up lookin’. Yeh know tha’, right?”

Harry smiled. “I know…thank you.”

“There yeh be then. Gosh, look a’ the time,” Hagrid said, standing up. “I best call Fang back and get inta bed.” Hagrid desperately didn’t want to discuss the odds with Harry. He would hate himself if he made the boy stop believing.

* *

Draco and Greg were nearing the end of their chess game, when black and silver ashes floated high in the air. It was the signal of an incoming Floo call from the communications lounge. The ashes spelled out the name of the intended recipient, and underneath it the name of the caller.

The common room froze as the names became clear: Draco Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy. Greg looked up at his friend, and quickly cast the charm reply: _He’s in Quidditch practice, please try again later._ Dark muttering grew, as students wondered and wagered what would happen.

“I need you and Crabbe to help me track down Potter,” Draco said. Greg nodded. “My father never calls. Something’s wrong.”

It took half an hour before they found Harry, who was just returning from Hagrid’s hut and returning to the library.

“Potter!” Draco snapped as he rushed to walk in step with Harry. Crabbe and Goyle, who had been flanking Draco, now walked a pace back from the pair.

“What do you want?” Harry asked.

“Something’s happened,” Draco said, his eyes searching for eavesdroppers as they walked through the hall.

“Thanks for the update, Vague-y McCryptic.”

Without warning, Draco grabbed Harry’s arm and dragged him into an unused classroom. Crabbe and Goyle automatically stood guard outside the door.

“What’s this all about?!” Harry demanded as Draco shut the door. 

“My father floo called for me.”

Harry felt his pulse quicken. “Shit.”

“I need you to come to the dungeons--”

“Oh no.”

“—and floo call him back--”

“Malfoy, there’s no way!”

“Potter, you have to!”

“Like hell I do!”

Draco took a deep breath. “Potter…my father never calls. Let’s read the runes here. He’s suffering punishment from the Dark Lord, we’re at war, he has many enemies. And now he contacts his only son, entirely out of the blue.” He paused, his voice shaking. He took another deep breath. “This is serious. Something’s wrong. I need you.”

Harry stared, surprised at the candidness Draco had offered him, and felt something hitch inside him at the boy’s final words. “Alright,” Harry said. “But I can’t imagine how you think we’re going to trick your bloody father into this ruse…”

“Easy,” Draco said with a smile. “Pansy has a charm that will put my voice in your head—I’ll instruct you on exactly what to say, you’ll just have to repeat after me. You’ll be my meat puppet!” 

“Don’t ever call me that again.”

As they left the classroom, Greg gave a tiny smirk at Draco for having taken Harry alone. Draco read his friend’s expression and smacked him playfully upside the head. Neither Crabbe nor Harry saw this interaction, and the four students moved quickly towards the Slytherin dungeons. 

“They’re not going to like me bringing you in,” Draco said. “Remember that you’re a guest. A deeply unwelcomed guest, like a cockroach.”

“Thanks.”

“Just don’t say anything. Do you have the self-restraint to keep your mouth shut, or should we hex you silent?” Draco joked.

At this, Crabbe aimed at Harry.

Harry snarled at Crabbe, “Point that thing at me and I’ll leave.” Crabbe sulkily lowered his wand. Harry nodded at Draco, “I’ll be quiet.”

They arrived at the Slytherin entrance. “You don’t get to learn our password, Potter. Crabbe?” Vincent grinned as he once again aimed at Harry and cast a charm so Harry could only hear the buzzing of bees. His logical mind slower than his reflexes, Harry ducked when he first heard them but quickly realized they weren’t real. He scowled as Crabbe guffawed at him. 

Draco told the stones the password, and they sucked themselves into the wall to reveal the entranceway to Slytherin House. Crabbe cancelled the buzzing charm, and let his shoulder push past Harry as he walked through the tunnel first. Harry rolled his eyes. Draco and Harry followed, with Goyle bringing up the rear.

A dozen wands drew as they entered the common room. 

“What is a Gryffindor— _Harry freaking Potter_ —doing in our House?!” Millicent Bulstrode demanded, wand pointing furiously.

“It’s alright Millie,” Draco said. Pansy rushed to stand with their group, wand ready. “Everyone,” Draco began, raising his voice to a commanding speech. “You know my father floo’d for me earlier. Potter is here under strict guard, to allow me to call him back, and will be immediately escorted out the moment we’re done. He doesn’t know our password, he will not be here any longer than absolutely necessary.”

“Of course,” sneered Vaisey, lounged in a black leather armchair with one leg over the arm. “First it’s a private conference with Potter, then later this afternoon he’ll be volunteering our House to host a tea party for mudbloods, followed by a march throughout the castle to promote free house elves. Our Prince, everyone.”

Draco strode imperiously towards Vaisey. The boy stood up, a mocking smile curdling his lips.

“Step down,” Draco growled, their noses an inch apart. Vaisey stared unblinkingly at Draco. 

“There has to be a line,” Vaisey continued. “This is that line. Harry Potter can’t be allowed here. I challenge you.”

The House erupted in mutterings. Draco calmly looked at the crowd, counting how many allies he had present. As the one being challenged, he could choose the time of their match. Nearly the entire House was there, which meant the majority of his supporters were in attendance and he could not benefit from delaying. Choosing another time would only make him look weak.

“Accepted,” Draco said, his voice flint striking steel.

Vaisey jerked his head towards Harry. “Get him out of here. We don’t need him to witness this.”

“I give the orders,” Draco said. “Potter stays. In this moment, he’s my vassal, in my service and under my protection.” Draco knew that if they chased Harry out now, it was more likely he wouldn’t get back in. The difference in responsibility between accepting their leader’s choice to let Potter in versus actively letting Potter in themselves was stark.

Pansy muttered very quietly to Harry, “He just risked a lot, saying that. Don’t make it regrettable.” 

Harry clenched his jaw. He knew he had promised to stay silent…but his anxiety got the better of him, as he whispered back to Pansy, “You know he can’t do magic, right?”

“It’s not that kind of challenge,” She bit back. “It’s verbal sparring. If Draco loses, he forfeits the right to be Prince of Slytherin.”

“I thought that was just a stupid nickname?”

“No. It’s politics.”

Greg transfigured a chair into an apple box as Vaisey did the same. Both Draco and Vaisey stood atop their respective boxes.

“As challenger, I will speak first,” Vaisey declared, eyes still unblinking. “Many of our parents follow he-who-shall-not-be-named. To invite the enemy with open arms into our House is slapping the Dark Lord in the face. We mustn’t dare. We can’t. Regardless of whether or not you personally follow the Dark Lord, he is a significantly more present danger to members of our House than to any other students at Hogwarts. We don’t have the luxury to assume safety. Keep our relations with Potter just as they have always been: hostile, unwelcoming. If we change that, we send a message that will not be favoured.” Signaling his finish, he nodded to Draco.

“How many times have I ever received floo calls, in the years of attending Hogwarts school? Can anyone remember a single time? Speak up!” The crowd gave furtive glances around. No one offered a time. “If my father has chosen now to attempt to contact me while at school, it stands to reason that it is something of grave importance. Does anyone believe Lucius Malfoy will accept dismissal? No. He will simply continue to attempt contact, until he is so infuriated he storms the castle with his entourage. Which is the greater threat, the more probable threat? –that somehow, someone might learn Potter was given brief and limited access to our House, or that a group of scared adults will learn we have switched bodies and rush to win favour by reporting to you-know-who?” Draco scanned the crowd. “Vaisey is right, we as a House are more vulnerable to the dexterous reach of the Dark Lord. But letting Potter in is not something he can learn about unless one of us choses to reveal that information. On the other hand, if I cannot floo my father and he brings his associates to investigate…the leak will be sprung. They will know that none of us gave vital information, and punishment will follow. 

“The question is not ‘do we want Potter in Slytherin’. The question is: Do we want to maintain control of this situation? The only way to do that, is to nip this in the bud, to floo my father and have the situation dealt with and finished.” Draco nodded at Vaisey, signaling the end of his speech.

Harry watched as throughout the crowd, wands raised, some hesitantly and some boldly. 

“Lit wands represent votes for the current Prince,” Pansy whispered to Potter, raising her own lit wand proudly. “And don’t you dare vote,” she added quickly. 

“I’m not an idiot,” Harry whispered back. 

Draco searched the crowd, looking for Blaise. The boy had waited for Draco’s eyes to find him, before slowly raising a lit wand. Draco gave a small smile.

Having counted the votes, Vaisey stepped down from his box, defeated. He glared up at Draco and recited, “My challenge nulled, I await your edict.”

“This matter was not a simple dispute of opinion,” Draco said. “For nearly putting our House at severe risk of exposure, I banish you. Duration: one week.” Draco chose two wizards who had voted for him to make sure Vaisey did as bidden.

“Banish?” Harry asked.

“Shh!” Pansy said, as Draco stepped down and came to their group. 

“With me,” he said, turning smartly on his heel and leading them across the common room towards a narrow hallway. The small group followed him silently.

Harry waited until they seemed to be walking the hall alone until he asked Draco, “What did you mean by ‘banish’?”

Immediately, Pansy, Greg, and Vince all pulled their wands to routinely scan for the unwanted. Draco smiled at the surprised look on Harry’s face. “You guys are pretty regimented,” Harry said.

“We prefer order to chaos,” Draco said.

“All clear,” Pansy said. 

Draco nodded, and decided to throw Potter a bone. “Banishment by your Prince means the rest of the House will ostracize you. Time spent in-House is relegated to the dungeons so you’re kept in solitary confinement.”

“Wait, you have actual dungeons?!”

“We are built beneath the castle, Potter. Of course we have dungeons.”

“That’s so weird.”

“They’re great for sex parties.” 

Harry’s eyebrows shot up. “Are you being serious?”

“Not all of us have access to dorm rooms. Pansy, love, did you know that Gryffindor girls can waltz into the boy’s dorms whenever they choose?”

“Hmm, maybe I should have been a Gryffindor,” she said with a grin.

“Don’t even joke about it,” Draco said.

A narrow hallway flanked by tapestries branched off the right hand side. Crabbe and Goyle stationed themselves as guards on either side of the entrance. Draco, Pansy, and Harry turned down to walk the short, darkened hall which lead to an ornate door. Draco opened it and ushered the other two through.

Harry didn’t know what he had been expecting, but this wasn’t it. The room was cold. The ceiling was much higher than throughout the rest of the House, and the floor was black marble veined with silver. There were no chairs, no decorations. Nothing except the massive fireplace dominating the entire wall. The firebox alone was easily seven feet tall, its trim and mantle exceeding this, with a beautiful Turkish jar suspended at its right side for floo powder.

“First things first,” Pansy said. Draco recognized her getting-down-to-business voice, and grinned. “Those clothes.” She quickly transfigured Harry’s clothes into Draco’s signature black suit.

Harry grimaced. Not only did he dislike being her doll, but he couldn’t help the string of anger and loss over the full transfiguration of his Weasley sweater. Molly had hand-knit this for him last Christmas. It was one thing to add a little length so he could wear it in this new body, but to alter its entire substance into something else? How much of the original is truly returned when it’s transfigured back? He couldn’t quite put it in words, but something about the difference between the appearance of the thing and the loving energy Mrs. Weasley wove into it… Harry wrinkled his nose, certain the question would be “too muggle thinking” to get a straight answer here, and told himself he would talk to Hermione later.

“And the hair, my gods Potter,” Pansy said, motioning towards the top of his head and slicking his hair to one side.

“That’s infinitely better,” Draco said. Harry smirked at him.

“Now Potter, this next spell is going to put a direct link between your mind and Draco’s speech and hearing. He is going to be just outside the door, listening to what Lucius says, and you’re going to repeat Draco’s responses.” She held up her wand and moved close to his side. “Are you ready?”

“Yeah, let’s get this over with,” Harry said.

Pansy recited some Latin softly, touching the tip of her wand to his earlobe, to his temple. Harry felt a warmth from her wand and told himself not to be nervous. She whipped her wand to aim at Draco, and with a final incantation Harry felt a small _pop_ in his head, like when your ears pop in high altitudes. 

“Now, to practice,” Pansy said, shooing Draco out with a wave of her hand. Draco languidly left the room, shutting the door with a firm but gentle click.

Harry stared at Pansy, awkward, not knowing what he was supposed to do. _Pansy, love, I want you to take your panties off and put them in my pocket,_ Draco’s voice said in Harry’s head. “I’m not saying that!” Harry protested. 

Pansy laughed. “Whatever it was, get used to it. This conversation with Lucius isn’t going to be a comfortable one, you’ll have to say things with a perfectly straight face that you wouldn’t normally say. Draco, can you hear me clearly?”

_You’re a fairie’s ring,_ Draco replied. Harry repeated it to her, then grumbled, “What does that even mean?” 

_Fairies have a clear, crystal ringing when they’re nearby,_ Draco explained, while Pansy said, “Potter, you don’t have to know what it means, you just have to say it.” _Yeah, that too,_ Draco added. Harry could almost hear the smirk. “Okay, let’s keep going,” Pansy encouraged.

_Hermione Granger is a know-it-all little cunt and I’ll be sure to make her cry when I beat her in every subject._ Harry felt his blood boil, but he took a deep breath and repeated it.

“Oh, Draco, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look so miserable…! It would be cute, if this wasn’t so bloody important!” Pansy said.

_Damnit, Potter, pull yourself together,_ Draco hissed. “I’m trying!” Harry said.

“I have an idea,” Pansy said. “Potter, you need to kill names right now. Think of your friend, and put her in a box way over here,” she said, motioning to one side. “The name ‘Hermione’ isn’t hers right now. Take someone you hate; Bellatrix, maybe. Now impose the name ‘Hermione’ on recollections of Bellatrix. Close your eyes and really envision Bellatrix, and impose the name Hermione on those feelings.” Harry closed his eyes, thinking of how Bellatrix had killed Sirius, thinking of her laughter…and started putting the name Hermione to it.

“Try again,” she whispered after a few minutes.

Harry repeated Draco’s words with a visceral viciousness.

“Perfect!” Pansy squealed. Harry looked guilty. “Stop with the look,” she said. “You’re just playing a part. You can give the name back to Hermione when it’s time to take her out of the box. Okay? So when you’re talking to Lucius, remember, anyone mentioned that you care about can go in the box with her. You’re not hurting them, they’re in the box.”

“Alright,” Harry said. “Thanks.” _Pansy, you’re brilliant,_ Draco said. “Pansy, you’re brilliant. That one’s from both of us,” Harry added.

“Of course I am,” Pansy said with a flip of her hair. “Okay. Stand up straight. Hands either at your side, or clasped behind your back. Don’t put your hands in your pockets, don’t slouch or stare at the floor…” Pansy took a breath. “Okay. We’re gonna be okay. Good luck,” she said, and left the room.

Draco caught her hand as she was leaving. “Pansy, I couldn’t do this without you.”

She smiled at him. “Yes you could. Just not nearly as well.” 

He leaned forward and kissed the corner of her mouth. “Thanks, love.”

“Always,” she said, squeezing his hand before walking to stand guard with Crabbe and Goyle. 

_Alright Potter, let’s do this._ Harry grabbed a handful of floo powder from the jar, and tossed it into the fireplace. He had to admit, this was so much better than kneeling on the ground, cramping your legs and bruising your knees in the middle of the Gryffindor common room. “Malfoy Manor,” he directed.

The flames seared into a sickly green, and after a moment, a house elf stood in the fire. “Who seeks the great and noble Malfoy Manor?” the elf squeaked.

Repeating Draco’s words, Harry said, “Draco Malfoy. Inform my father at once.” Harry felt a knot at the phrase ‘my father’. 

The elf disappeared from view, and Harry waited, shifting from foot to foot. Lucius Malfoy, resplendent in a highly-embroidered robe, stepped comfortably into the fire. “Draco,” he said in acknowledgement, nodding. Harry nodded back, uncertain. _Father,_ Draco replied. Harry parroted the greeting.

“An owl came to me this morning,” Lucius said, every word a mathematical stroke. “Do you know what that owl brought me?”

_Potter: hold his gaze, chin up, say nothing._ Harry obeyed.

“A dead snake.”

Harry’s eyes widened involuntarily. Both he and Draco were thinking the same thing: the Switch.

“A common garden snake,” Lucius continued, keenly noting his son’s reaction. Harry felt his heart start up again, beating double time. “Decapitated. Charmed red and gold, with a hand painted Sumerian symbol for ‘Prince’.” Lucius dropped his calm demeanor like a cloak. “My son is the Prince of the serpent house, and an unknown Hogwarts owl brings me a ‘prince’ snake, desecrated in Gryffindor colours with his head cut off. What is going on?”

Draco was shocked. Someone was trying to warn his father about the Switch. He had to deflect…

“Father, I apologize for the worry this has brought you…”

“Worry doesn’t begin to cover it,” his father ground out. “This is clearly a threat. Your mother had a full-fledged panic attack, shrieking between hyperventilated breaths that Harry Potter was coming after you, as revenge against your aunt and myself.”

Harry was stunned. He’d never blame Draco for the crimes of Bellatrix, or even Lucius.

“I assure you, it’s nothing so dramatic. I believe I know exactly what this is all about,” Harry said, hoping Draco knew what he was doing. “I believe Greg sent you that package.” --blaming Goyle? But…even as they spoke, Goyle was loyally guarding their privacy... “You see, father, this is all my fault.” Oh. “Goyle was reprimanding me for spending so much time with –with my boyfriend,” Harry said, including Draco’s stutter, unsure if he was supposed to or not. “And I teasingly told him that I would soon elope with the man. Obviously, he thinks I’ve lost my head, and that foolish Gryffindor notions of romance and reckless decisions have corrupted me. He’s trying to send a message, hoping you’ll rap my knuckles and prevent me from dishonouring my family. To which, I hope you know, I would never, ever do.” Harry was impressed. 

Lucius stared at Harry. A full minute passed. Harry was sweating, trying his best to look nonchalant, and to meet the man’s eyes.

“Boyfriend,” Lucius repeated. Harry’s anger at Lucius flared even hotter. “Do not flaunt your dalliances, son. If you spend so much time with this boy as to attract the concern of your friends, then you are not being careful. Discretion is the key. Do what makes you happy, but do not do it where others can see.” Harry wanted to piss in the flames. The imagined vision helped keep the anger from his face.

“Yes, father.”

“I trust you will deal with your friend,” Lucius sneered. “I will not tolerate being used to make a point by school children.”

“I will. Please give my apologies to mother. I promise, I’ll take care of it.”

“Indeed,” Lucius said. “Since I have you here, I may as well inform you. Your betrothal has been narrowed down to two candidates. You’ll be pleased to know that one is your darling Pansy Parkinson.”

_Potter: smile, big smile, this is important. Say: Thank you father, for your consideration._ “Thank you, father, for your consideration.”

“The other, is Miss Astoria Greengrass. You know your mother and I have worked to keep your desires in mind, Draco. But the time is coming close, and you may be required to compromise.”

_I understand, father. I know you and mother will do what is best to ensure the success of our family, and if able, promote my happiness._ Harry pushed each sour word out of his mouth, trying to imagine them as sweets.

Another long pause. Lucius said, “Draco: do you hold quarrel with me?”

“Absolutely not, father.”

“Your eyes…there is something you’re keeping from me.”

_I’m sorry, father, I’m merely tired._ “You’ve asked me to keep everything important to myself, I may as well continue as per your teachings.” _Potter! Don’t go off script!_

Lucius was still as stone, eyes boring through his son, angry, searching, considering…and grew gentler. “Are you in love?”

A long pause. _Yes,_ Draco whispered, barely audible, afraid. “Yes,” Harry said boldly.

“Does he love you?”

“Yes.”

Another pause as Lucius digested this. “These…relationships, can bring great joy. If they are managed properly, and don’t harm the family.” The man thought a moment longer, then bowed his head. “You have my blessing. So long as you’re more careful, and you understand your duty.”

Draco’s eyes went wide. He wished, with all his heart, that he could truly be sharing this moment with his father instead of hiding outside the room.

The floo call ended.

Harry opened the door, and Draco flung his arms around him. “You have no idea how much that meant,” Draco whispered in his ear. Harry felt the words both breathed and in his mind. It was an echoed, dreamlike quality. “It wouldn’t have happened without you. Thank you.” Harry wrapped his arms around him and squeezed back, saying nothing. Draco pulled away shyly, and smiled up at him before summoning Pansy over. Harry felt the moment brand itself to his skin.

“Let’s talk inside,” Draco said. The three of them stepped back into the communication lounge.

Pansy took out her wand and ended her spell. 

“Don’t forget the clothes,” Harry said. 

Pansy pouted. “You honestly want those rags back?”

“Just do it,” Harry said. Pansy sighed, and transfigured his clothing back to normal.

“Is your family okay?” Pansy asked Draco.

“Yes, they’re fine. Actually, father placed the floo call because he believed I was being threatened.” He told her about the owl Lucius received. 

Her brow furrowed. “Draco,” she started. “If someone is trying to alert your father, it’s likely they sent the same message to others…”

“Without a signature, with no way to claim credit? No…someone wanting to deliver information to the Dark Lord would have wanted to make sure he knew who to spare from his wrath.” Draco countered.

“But why send something to your father? You think an ally did this?”

“That’s disturbing. But possible,” Draco said.

“Slytherin House is complicated,” Harry said. “The politics, the suspicions, damn. In Gryffindor, they just want me to show them your dick.”

Draco and Pansy stared at Harry, and burst out laughing. “You can’t be serious?” Draco asked, grinning from ear to ear.

“Yeah,” Harry said sheepishly. “Don’t worry, I haven’t and I won’t.”

“Oh?” Draco said, his smile turning teasing. “Keeping it to yourself, are you?” Draco’s voice rippled with suggestiveness. He had never spoken to Harry like that—it made Harry’s pulse spike.

“Not much to keep to myself,” Harry teased back, mouth dry, refusing to back down from this new type of challenge Draco began.

“I think you need to give it a good, hard look before you say that…” Draco said.

“If you two are done flirting,” Pansy said. 

Harry, wild-eyed, quickly said, “We’re not flirting!” Too quickly. _God damnit._ He looked back at Draco, who was watching him with curiosity.

“Of course we’re not flirting,” Draco said, putting an arm around Pansy. “I’m a twice-taken man. Speaking of which,” he turned to look his best friend in the eye. “Father says plans for my betrothal have narrowed to two witches. You’ve made the final rounds, love.” Pansy hugged him, thrilled—then quickly pulled away.

“Who’s my competition?”

“Astoria,” Draco said carefully. 

Pansy’s eyes turned to slits. “That--”

“I know,” Draco interrupted. “Don’t worry about her. You have me on your side.”

Pansy nodded, collected her anger and hid it away for later. “We should go.”

The three of them left, retrieving Crabbe and Goyle from their post and heading towards the common room. Pansy peeled away from the group once they reached the commons, quickly walking downstairs to her room. Harry felt several sparks hit his heels, minor burn curses to get him moving faster. He glared around, looking for his attackers, but everyone was doing their best innocently-not-paying-attention faces. Crabbe and Goyle took seats on one of the couches.

Draco walked Harry through the entrance tunnel, watching the stones suck themselves in so Harry could leave. “You really came through for me,” Draco whispered as the stones ground their way inside themselves. “I won’t forget that.”

Harry smiled at him. He stepped out, and turned to face Draco as the stones exhaled, reclaiming the entranceway as wall. “Be careful,” he said. Draco nodded. They watched each other until the stones closed between them.

Later that night, Draco was researching about how to unlock charmed parchments in his dorm room. A knock startled him from his reading. He set down his quill, placed a ribbon in the page he was on and closed the book before going to the door.

Blaise stood holding a red rose. “I’m sick of fighting,” he said with a pout, handing Draco the flower. Draco smiled, took the flower and closed his eyes, indulging in its smell. He looked up at Blaise.

“You know…Kissing another man is usually a jewelry level offense.”

“I kissed _you!_ ”

“I know,” Draco said, motioning for Blaise to come in and closing the door behind him. “But at the same time, you didn’t.”

“I was hoping you’d be over this by now,” Blaise muttered.

“It’s still an issue,” Draco defended. “Blaise…Do you have any idea how dysphoric it is…to have someone touching you, and not touching you. Touching a body that is yours and not yours? It’s so confusing.”

“You’re making too big a deal out of this,” Blaise said gently.

“No, I’m not!” Draco said. “I need you to understand. I don’t want to feel Potter’s responses to you. I don’t want to know how he would react to you touching him…”

“Forget about Potter,” Blaise said urgently. “Just think about you and me. That’s it. That’s all you need to think about.”

“I can’t. Not when you’re getting off on kissing someone new. I don’t want you tasting him, exploring him, knowing him when I only want you to know me.”

“Draco,” Blaise said. “I’m willing to put up with a lot of high maintenance from you. But a platonic relationship…that’s not something I signed up for.” He paused. “When we first started getting serious about each other, you wanted monogamy from me. That’s not what I wanted, but I compromised. For you. Maybe it’s time for you to compromise for me.”

“What are you saying? You want me to just…” Draco stopped. “Just fake being okay, when you know I’m not? And let you do what you want. Is that what you’re suggesting?!”

“Draco!” Blaise fought to regain his temper. “Draco,” he repeated, calmer. “I love you. I really do. But this relationship isn’t only about what you want.”

Draco looked down at the rose. The points of each petal were crisp, with bloody veins tracking its delicate skin. “What about Polyjuice?” 

Blaise scoffed. “Are you kidding?”

“Blaise, I could Polyjuice my real body. That way, we could mess around, and it would be us.”

“It takes three months to brew Polyjuice,” Blaise reminded him.

“Alright,” Draco said. “In the meantime, I could find ways to get you off without you touching me. This doesn’t have to be platonic! But it does have to be restrained.”

“That’s not enough for either of us,” Blaise said. “Never being able to kiss you?”

“It’s not never!” Draco said. “Just until we locate the Switch, ideally.”

“And when’s that going to be?” Blaise pressed. “A week?” Draco said nothing. “A month? The rest of the year? You’re already betting on a minimum three months, if you believe Polyjuice is an appropriate suggestion. What if the Switch is never found?”

“It will be,” Draco insisted. “Blaise…Wait for me.” Draco was reminded of Potter’s words about waiting. 

“Waiting indefinitely…for a maybe. Draco, I…I don’t know.” Blaise looked away. “God, I never thought that I’d be breaking up with you. But I want my partner to be my partner in all things, and you’re not able to do that.” 

Draco’s heart dropped.

“Maybe when things are fixed, we could try again…?” Blaise asked.

“There’d be a lot more to fix than switching bodies,” Draco said flatly. Blaise bowed his head. 

“I’m sorry. This just can’t work like it is.” Blaise went to the door, opened it and paused. “I loved you, you know.” 

Draco wanted to say it back, but his voice was so swollen he couldn’t find the strength to push the words out. Blaise left.

Draco looked down at the rose in his hand. It was so red.

His vision blurred, and he blinked back tears. He took quiet, solemn steps to his desk. Hanging over his desk, a picture of him and Blaise from the summer. The two happy faces looked at each other, the smiles of a secret shared, and turned to beam at the camera. Their ignorance of the present made Draco angry and even further grief-stricken. He took the picture down, hiding it in an unused drawer of his desk. 

Draco pulled the nail out of the wall, and punctured the stem of the rose. It split around the obtrusion, wet. He pushed the nail back into the wall, so the rose hung upside down.

Inverted romance.


	9. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AUTHOR’S NOTE: The book versus the movie version of Quirrell's death are different; my fanfic goes by the movie version.  
> *Reviews bring joy!* Thanks!

Harry was running through the Hogwarts corridors. He had woken up hours early to shower, and made the mistake of laying down again once he was done. Now he was late for class.

He threw open the door, stitch in his side and out of breath. “Sorry,” he muttered quickly, embarrassed. 

Remus smiled in amusement. “That’s quite alright, Mr. Potter. We’ve started without you.” Draco was sitting on the ground, dipping his fingers into a ribbed clay jar. His fingers came out covered in something that looked like white honey, and while using a drawing on parchment as reference, continued to recreate the image onto the ground. He didn’t even look up at Harry. “You need to help Mr. Malfoy in forming this symbol. It should be the size of a coffee table once completed.”

“I can’t draw,” Harry said uneasily. 

“It’s more important that it’s created by both of you, than for it to be an artistic masterpiece. You, the soul, and Draco, the body: the answers you seek are about intentions toward the soul by using the body’s blood. It must be both of you. Just do your best.” Remus handed Harry a piece of parchment with the image on it, then left the boys to sit down in one of the student theatre-like seats. He pulled a tattered looking book from his inside coat pocket, and began to read.

Harry removed his school robe, seeing Draco had done the same to avoid the ample sleeves mucking up the floor painting. He unbuttoned the cuffs to his dress shirt, and rolled his sleeves up as he sat next to Draco.

“I don’t even know where to start,” Harry said, his eyes swimming as he looked between what was already slickened to the ground and what the parchment said the finished symbol should look like.

“It doesn’t matter,” Draco said moodily. “It all needs to be done, anyway. So start anywhere.”

Harry studied the parchment, trying to match up the points that Draco had already completed so he didn’t mistakenly repeat the design. He tore tiny reference points.

“You’re pretty good,” Harry said, admiring the precise way Draco created his lines.

“Drawing is just math,” Draco said, dismissing the compliment. “You space out how close each mark is to each other, how long individual marks are, how thick they are. If your math is accurate, your drawing will be successful.”

Harry wrinkled his nose. “That strips the art away.”

“No,” Draco said, angry. “It doesn’t. It’s only myopic to people who fail to see the overarching point: Art, math, they’re languages, and they share linguistic roots with each other.”

“You have a strange way of looking at things,” Harry said.

“At least I bother to look,” Draco snarled.

Harry was confused. Hadn’t they gotten along yesterday? “Why are you so bitchy this morning?” When Draco stubbornly refused to answer, Harry asked, “Did something happen?”

“No,” said Draco.

The boys worked in silence. Harry was nervous, his mind constantly crippling his productivity with self-doubt. As he forced himself to persevere, however, he realized that he was creating a fair reproduction. He would draw a line, then freeze—afraid that he had made it too long or done the wrong angle—but every time he checked, he was doing it well. With a start, Harry realized that Draco was an artist. His hands were trained, and understood what movement would recreate the design his eyes saw. He took a deep breath and made the decision to stop over-analyzing and panicking, and to simply trust. 

Draco growled in frustration. “I have never had to work so slow in my _life!_ ” Draco said. “It’s like your hands find art utterly alien.”

“Told you I can’t draw,” Harry said with a smirk.

Draco scowled at him. “I’m training them. I can see what needs to be done, and I know from experience how to make the motion…I just have to go abysmally slow to make your hands work.” With his clean hand, Draco swept the dark hair from his eyes. “How have you gone through your entire life not learning art?!”

“I dunno,” Harry shrugged, letting his left hand absently continue to paint. “We’d sometimes have classes in muggle school for art. But I never had my own art supplies. I’d borrow school property, which was usually broken or limited. It just wasn’t something I had the privilege of getting into.”

Draco silently fumed.

“I wouldn’t have thought you’d be into this stuff,” Harry continued. “I assumed learning how to draw would be too…I don’t know. Low class, or something.”

“This is why the Dark Lord is spot on for wanting to remove muggle-borns from their parents at birth,” Draco began, intentionally baiting Harry for a fight. “You know nothing about your own culture.”

“Oh, sure. Kidnap muggle-born infants…Because all the pure-bloods would want to adopt a ‘mudblood’ into their own family line, right?!” Harry said, furious.

“Even an orphanage would be preferable.” 

“Fuck right off. You can’t honestly believe that?” 

“At least you’d grow up in your own world,” Draco insisted. “Do you know what the most annoying question is that every single muggle-born I’ve ever met has asked?” Harry glared at him. “Some iteration of: ‘is this real?’. The muggle world has a deteriorated, almost senile remembrance of magic. They teach stories to their young, turn around and say ‘this isn’t real’. Then muggles make the child believe some of it is real, creatures like ‘Santa’ or the tooth fairy. They condition the child for years to believe it’s true, then reveal that they lied all along and reinforce the crushing idea that magic is not to be trusted or believed in. When these kids turn eleven and are brought to Hogwarts…they can’t fully trust what our world offers. ‘Is that real?’, ‘I thought goblins were only in stories’, ‘Can you really do this’, ‘Is that a trick’…It makes me want to scream. No one should have to scrutinize reality to that point. It’s abuse, and it happens to every muggle-born child.”

“Maybe,” Harry said, still angry but also distinctly intrigued by Draco’s thoughts. “But Jesus, Malfoy. You can’t go around stealing children from their families! Vol--” Harry caught himself. “--The Dark Lord is a mad man if he thinks that’s the best solution.”

“Didn’t you ever want to leave your family?” 

“The thought may have crossed my mind,” Harry said dryly, remembering how desperately he wanted to remain at Hogwarts after his First Year, remembering the hope that he could live with Sirius… “But the Dursleys aren’t a good example of a ‘family’,” Harry added. “Why are you defending muggle-borns? You hate them,” Harry said, a test.

“True,” Draco said simply. Harry scowled. “But not because they’re muggle-born. Because they’re muggle-raised.” Harry shot an angry side-eye glance at Draco, waiting for explanation. Draco wasn’t paying attention, he was carefully studying the curvature of the mark he was painting. “Muggle-borns are actually incredible,” he said, much to Harry’s shock. “We still don’t know how they exist. Purebloods inherit magic. But magic chooses muggle-borns. They’re the essence of what magic is: something from nothing. But the unfortunate side effect of all this, is that they become raised by muggles. And _that_ , I hate. Muggle-borns are our people, and keeping them banished from our world for over a decade to live with the enemy is wrong.”

Harry scrunched up his face. “That’s not what’s happening…”

“Yes, it is,” Draco argued. “The Quill of Acceptance records the birth of all magical children, right? You know that’s how Professor McGonagall knows who to send Hogwarts invitations to?” Harry nodded. “So, we have an automatic detection of where our people are born into. And we leave them there, with no mentors to assist, until they’re eleven. Your aunt and uncle panicked and blamed you when your accidental magic released. I assure you, that’s not an uncommon reaction. These children have no one to turn to, and no answers for what’s happening to them. I pity them. However…they spend over a decade, depending on muggles. Loving muggles…” Draco snarled the last. “Monsters who crave genocide, wiping out entire species of animals for fun, even murdering hundreds of thousands of their own people, hunting us simply for being different. Tortured us, killed us. When we finally went into hiding, they eliminated us from history, claiming we were only myth. Like they did to the unicorns. Unicorns! The bloody symbol of all that is good and pure. Nothing is sacred to them.”

“Love is sacred to them,” Harry said quietly. Draco said nothing. “They really scare you, don’t they?”

“I hate them,” Draco spat. “Which means I hate muggle-borns. They hold uncanny trust in these monsters. It’s a decade’s worth of brainwashing, these kids learning that they belong with muggles. Hard to re-write that, when they learn it so young. So I hate them. But it doesn’t mean I don’t pity them.”

Harry was blown away. “The muggles you describe, I hate too. But that’s not the majority of them. It’s a sick fraction of them. I swear to you, they’re not all like that.”

“Then why are we in hiding to this day?” Draco sneered. Harry didn’t know what to say. He imagined how the muggle world would react if wizards and witches revealed their side of the world. Rampant fear, demands for experimentation, everything from new religions reveling magic-users as demi-gods to full-scale witch hunts for execution. Muggles can’t even accept a gay kid in boy scouts, how could they accept a kid with the level of devastating power magic wields? He thought of the Dursleys en masse and shuddered.

“Volde—fuck, _The Dark Lord_ , wants to destroy the muggle populace. How does that make him different from them?”

“We’re fighting back for self-protection and defense.”

“What ‘fighting back’, we’ve learned how to peacefully coexist!”

“No, we’ve learned to hide.”

Harry growled, frustrated. “Okay, look at it this way. You eliminate all the muggles. You know what else that does? It eliminates a massive faction of wizards and witches, because it removes the potential for muggle-borns. Maybe magic needs muggles. Maybe magic needs the balance of flowing through bloodlines and spontaneous creation. If you take away muggles, what will you ultimately be doing to magic?”

Draco stopped painting and looked up at Harry, impressed. “That’s…terrifying and brilliant.”

“What, terrifying because it came from me?”

“Because you might be right,” Draco whispered.

Harry felt smugly victorious, but the feeling fizzled when he looked at Draco and saw the fear and conflict running through him.

“I think it’s done,” Draco said, dotting one last line. Harry called Remus over, who walked around their work, examining it. 

“Harry, you forgot a star,” Remus said, using the toe of his shoe to point. Harry looked at the parchment, back to the painting, and was embarrassed that the man was right. 

“Great Morgana Potter, blood magic is dangerous enough without you bollocksing up the conjuring circle!” 

“Remus said it didn’t have to be exact!” Harry bickered back at Draco.

“I said your art didn’t have to be expert-level. That doesn’t mean we can omit parts of the design,” Remus quickly clarified. Harry dipped his fingers back into the jar, painting the tiny star. “The rest looks perfect,” Remus said. “Go wash up.”

The boys stood, Draco stretching before following Harry into the hall. They both entered the nearest boy’s bathroom, Draco purposely using a sink further from the one Harry chose. Harry looked around and saw they were alone. _Now’s the best time,_ he thought to himself, wondering if he was about to make a really stupid mistake. He dried his hands quickly, and took Draco’s elbow before he made it out the door. “Wait,” he said. Draco flinched at the word. 

“What?” Draco said, irritated with himself.

“I know something happened. We were on good terms yesterday, and now…” Harry paused. “You want to keep it to yourself, fine. But…after seeing the political climate in Slytherin, it made me worried. Like it or not, we’re in this together. So…” He dug a blue button out of his pocket. “I had Hermione make this for you.” He held it out to Draco. “It’s an alert mechanism. If you hadn’t found me yesterday, things would have been much worse for you. If you ever need me for something like that, or whatever…just press your thumb into its front and hold it for ten seconds. Mine will glow, and we’ll meet up in the Dynamics room.” Draco stared at the offering, astounded. Harry shifted uncomfortably. “If you don’t want it—”

“I want it,” Draco said quickly, plucking the button out of Harry’s hands before he could move. Harry smiled. Draco studied the button, the carved grooves along its edges and the darker swirl pattern across its front. He had been so hurt and angry all morning, taking it out on Harry and baiting the boy so he could vent some of that emotion…and Harry still wanted to reach out to him. “Blaise broke up with me,” Draco blurted out.

“What?”

“Last night. He broke it off.”

“He’s an idiot.”

Draco looked up at Harry. He put the button in his pocket and smiled. “Thanks.”

Harry smiled back. “C’mon, let’s go.”

As they made their way back to the Dynamics room, Draco walked side-by-side with Harry. Harry was learning that these small gestures, things that many people do without thinking, were chosen with purpose by Draco and often spoke volumes about how he felt.

Entering the classroom, Remus clapped once for their attention. “Alright!” He began. “Before we begin, there’s a few things you need to understand about blood magic.” Draco snorted. Remus raised an eyebrow. “Something to say, Mr. Malfoy?”

Draco huffed, looked at Harry quickly and back to their teacher. “Nothing. Just…Potter, how did you convince me to go along with this?! The man has tainted blood. What’s he going to know about blood magic?”

“I assure you, I had the best teacher imaginable.”

“Considering you never had training to become a Professor, as every other faculty member to enter Hogwarts has had to do…how could you possibly claim to have ‘the best’ mentor for something so specialized?!”

Remus grinned. “I learned blood magic from a vampire.”

Draco froze. Harry couldn’t help but grin at the calculating, greedy look in his eyes. “Really?” Draco breathed, deeply curious.

“Really,” Remus said. “Any other objections?” Draco shook his head no, looking nearly mesmerized. “As I was saying,” Remus continued, amused to finally command the boy’s interest. “There are a few things I need you to understand before we delve into the dark arts. Firstly: Yes, Harry, all blood magic is considered dark arts. It can be used for good or neutral reasons, such as what we’re embarking on. But the practice itself remains dark arts. The reason for this classification is not simply for the use of blood—”

“Using human blood is plenty reason,” Draco argued, though not in his usual superior tone. It was a challenge, but one that simply wanted more information.

“That’s what most would have you believe,” Remus said. “Many potions use a variety of body parts in their ingredients without necessarily becoming part of the dark arts. You could argue that none of the body parts are human, and that distinction is what makes blood magic contentious. But that’s not the whole truth. In potions, what you use interacts with all the other ingredients, and together they transform into the new creation. Potions is ultimately a birth. With blood magic, your blood sacrifice is drained of life. It’s a death of energy, when energy is the one thing that cannot normally be destroyed. That is the element that makes this dark arts. You feel it. Your entire bloodline will feel it.”

“The Dursleys?” Harry asked.

“Yes, even muggles. Witch or muggle, they wouldn’t know what it is—just an odd feeling, a shadow, they might think of you briefly. They won’t understand exactly what happened, but they will know something has happened.”

Harry nodded. He felt a little sick.

“This has never been attempted with members of the Switch, but in theory, Draco will feel it, and Harry’s bloodline will be affected. Harry, you shouldn’t feel anything at all. This is about life force and bloodlines.”

“If the blood is drained of life,” Draco asked, “does that affect the caster outside of feeling the moment happen?”

“It depends on the spell,” Remus said honestly. “It depends on the intent, how long and how powerful the spell needs to be, how much blood was sacrificed, whether or not the magic needed to feed on the power of your ancestral bloodline or as a simple offering of you.” He smiled. “In this case, no, there should not be adverse effects.” 

“Aside from the whole, ‘murdering energy’ thing,” Harry said, feeling conflicted. “What, exactly, does that do?”

“The theory is long and tedious. I can lend you a book--”

“The vampire gave you books on blood magic?” Draco asked eagerly.

Remus smiled. “He might have,” he said elusively. “He did have centuries and a singular passion for the subject, after all.”

Draco was itching to get his hands on that book. “Why don’t you lend me the book, I’ll pore over it and condense the theory for Potter. As a favour. Since we’re in this together and everything.”

“Nice try,” Remus said. “It will appear blank unless lent to someone trusted. Sorry, but you won’t be able to read it yet.” Draco scowled. “Harry, we need these answers,” Remus pressed. “Can you agree to the sacrifice?”

Harry shrugged helplessly. “I don’t see what choice we have, really.”

“You’re doing the right thing,” Remus reassured, but Harry still felt tense. “Mr. Malfoy, I will need you to stand at my right side. Keep your left hand palm up. I will recite the incantation, and slit your palm. Mr. Potter, you may stand where ever you like.”

Harry stood at Remus’s left. The man took out his wand, and began reciting long strings of Latin. Harry felt a chill wind slip through the stones and feather his skin, dancing with the candlelight. Draco offered his hand at the moment Remus needed, clearly understanding Latin, and Remus used his wand to cut deeply. Draco winced, but tried not to flinch. Remus gripped the boy’s wrist and in counter-clockwise movements, rolled the boy’s hand palm down over the circle, letting his blood fall. Each drop sizzled and smoked at landing on the design, turning black before evaporating into nothing. As Remus began to wrap up the incantations, he drew Draco’s wrist back outside the circle and flicked his wand hard.

Light.

It was as if the circle had become a sun—it was beautiful, and hurt to look at. Harry strained despite himself, and could see that the circle was spinning rapidly. As it slowed, the light lessened, and grew tolerable to the eyes. 

The circle had transformed—no longer was it the floor of the classroom. It was a golden cylinder, rising from ground to ceiling, and the belly of it let them peer into the past. Lily Potter, carrying her infant son, had just rushed into the nursery.

Draco was startled. _She’s the girl from the photograph,_ he thought. He pushed the questions that followed aside—he needed to pay attention.

Clutching her child with one hand, she grabbed a broom from the corner of the room and threw open the window—and saw hooded figures skulking the perimeter of her home.

“Lily was afraid of brooms at the best of times,” Remus murmured. “She couldn’t have outflown them.” Draco was surprised to learn Remus had known her.

She could hear the front door finally give way. She shut the window and put the baby in his crib. “It’s gonna be okay,” she kept chanting to her son. She shakily drew her wand and cut across her palm. Remus’s brows furrowed, trying to figure out what she was doing. She squeezed the blood over the infant’s mouth, cooing at him to drink, to be a good boy. The sounds of battle and the fear in her voice made the infant cry—which meant she could drip her blood into his open mouth.

“What…?” Harry asked, disgusted.

“Lily…” Remus said, as if his voice could reach her.

She cast a quick cleaning charm to eliminate the blood from her son’s face, and healed her hand. A particularly brutal crash made Lily jump, her eyes wide, but she kept going. She spoke in Latin, with figure-eight wand movements between the infant and herself.

“She’s doing a binding spell,” Remus said, quizzical. “A really powerful one. What is she up to?”

She leaned down and kissed Harry’s head with a hushed and shakey “I love you”. 

Silence.

Lily froze. “James…?” She whispered. He was gone. Which meant she was running out of time.

She whipped her wand up, pointed it to her temple, and cast the killing curse.

“No!” Harry yelled, watching his mother’s body hit the floor. “That’s not how it happened!” He said urgently to Remus. “I remember her—” Harry stopped mid-sentence. The blood magic they cast illuminated a glowing ball of white light emerging slowly from Lily’s body. It struggled, sluggish, to pull free of the body. Once out, it darted quickly into Harry’s.

“The soul, at the time of bodily death, has a choice to either go onto the next realm, whatever that may be…or to stay on earth and become a ghost. Except in the rare instances where bodily death is impermanent, what we call near-death experiences, when the soul can return to its body. She used the binding spell to trick her own journey into thinking your body was sanctuary. But why…?”

Lily’s body jerked, spindly, and stood.

“What the fuck…” Harry said.

“Necromancer,” Draco whispered. “She’s reanimating her old body.”

“That’s not what’s happening,” Harry said stubbornly. 

“Oh, Lily,” Remus whispered, heart breaking. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Remus, that’s not what’s happening…” Harry said, less sure, afraid.

Voldemort easily cut through the minimal defenses on the door and entered. Lily’s body stood naturally, and begged him to kill her but spare Harry. The infant was perfectly quiet, watching.

“This is my last warning,” Voldemort replied. “Step aside.”

 _Why is he giving her multiple chances to save herself?_ Draco wondered, his mind flitting back to the photograph.

When Lily refused, Voldemort cast the killing curse against her. She screamed, crumpled. The Dark Lord casually stepped over her and stood before the crib. The infant was still eerily quiet, gazing up at him with unblinking eyes. The Dark Lord smiled, lifted his wand high, and cast the killing curse once more—only to have that white light, Lily, instantly leave Harry’s body and propel itself directly into the curse. An explosion of green sparks flung backward, the spell shrapnel sending a shower of curse-missiles slicing through the Dark Lord’s body. He shrieked. The energy blast from having directly hit a soul instead of a physical form had magnified the intensity of the curse, and his body was reduced to particles. The violence and force behind the hit ejected his soul rapidly, and in its state of weakness a tiny piece splintered from the rest. The soul gave a fierce howling-whistle as it blew across the earth…and the rejected piece of soul moved into the object of focus it held before breaking apart: Harry. As it forced its way into the boy without the prime of a binding spell, like a sperm eating through an egg, it cut a strange mark into the child’s forehead as it entered.

Lily’s soul disappeared. The cylindrical column went dark, and became the school floor once more.

“None of that….none of that makes sense,” Harry sputtered, desperate. “Something must have gone wrong with the casting.”

“Nothing went wrong with the casting,” Remus refuted, tired.

“Did I see that right? Was that a piece of the Dark Lord’s _soul_ that burrowed into Potter?” Draco said, a panic rising. “Is it still there?!” He touched the scar. “Is that why you have that freaky bond with him?!”

“I don’t have any ‘bond’ with him!” Harry yelled back. 

“You see what he sees, he sends you visions!”

“That’s just magic, not a ‘bond’! You make it sound like allegiance!”

“Everyone, calm down,” Remus said loudly. “We need to go over what we saw, calmly.”

“Fuck ‘calmly’,” Harry said. “ _My mother can’t be a necromancer!_ That’s seriously dark and twisted shit, _she wouldn’t do that_.”

“And blood magic is all lollipops and kittens, is it?” Draco sneered back. “Everyone has a price. Your mother was clearly willing to break the rules for you. _That’s a good thing,_ Potter, so stop your whinging!”

“Speaking of which, give me your hand. I’ll heal it for you,” Remus said. Draco held his hand out, and nodded in satisfaction when Remus was finished.

“How could she know how to do that?” Harry asked Remus. 

The man sighed. “I don’t know for certain…but…Harry, there’s something you need to know about your mother’s term at Hogwarts. Since before she arrived, Lily and Severus were best friends.”

Harry stared blankly at Remus. “Severus Snape. And my mother. Were…?”

“Inseparable,” Remus said.

“You’re lying,” Harry said quietly.

“Why would I--”

“If Snape cared one iota for my mother, why would he hate me so much?!”

“Maybe because he cared much more for her,” Draco said. “And seeing you is an organic reminder how he could never have her.”

“You don’t know anything about it! You stay out of this!” Harry snarled at Draco.

“Actually,” Draco drawled. “I think I have proof he loved her.”

“I always suspected,” Remus said.

“You what?!” Harry whirled around to glare at the man.

“There was a time, back in fifth year, when they almost dated,” Remus said. Harry looked like he wanted to hit him. “I’m sorry Harry, but your mother loved him. They spent so much time together, always alone. But midway through the year, something changed. She said he was studying dark arts, and inching towards a dangerous crowd—what would later become the Death Eaters. She said she couldn’t help him anymore, but she still cared. One day, he was being bullied, and she came to his defense. But for whatever reason, he rejected her help, and called her a mudblood. She never forgave him, and their friendship died that day. He was so desperate to repent, I always thought he might have felt something for her…”

“It wasn’t love,” Harry said. “Not if he threw that word in her face.”

“People make mistakes,” Draco said. “Do you know what a prayer box is?” Harry simply glared at him. “It’s a small box that you fill with symbols of prosperity, health, good luck, and love. My mother has one that is filled with strange coins, feathers, crystals and stones, dragon scales and beads. Even one of my baby teeth. When I was six, my mother took me to visit Severus. They’re friends--well, as close to ‘friends’ as Snape will ever allow. While they talked, I went exploring and found his prayer box. I snooped. But inside was bare, only a single photograph. A picture of a girl, the most alien picture I’ve ever seen. It was in colour, but it wasn’t a painting, it was a photo. And it was dead. It was completely still. She stared straight at me, and it creeped me out so I closed the box and left. I had nightmares about that girl for a week.” Draco smiled. “My point is, her image is the only thing sacred to him.”

“I can’t believe this,” Harry said. “She loved my dad.”

“Not ‘til seventh year,” Remus corrected gently. “She thought he was a toe-rag up until then. When his parents died, he was forced to grow up fast. She fell in love with mature, responsible James, not trouble-maker semi-bully Prongs.” 

_Prongs?!_ Draco instantly thought of the enchanted parchment: Messer Prongs. 

“…you think she went so far as to learn necromancy before deciding to distance herself from Snape?” Harry asked. 

“She refused to talk to me about the specifics of her studies,” Remus said. “Which makes me believe she felt shame. The pair of them were so driven to learn absolutely everything there was to know about magic, so no one could dispute their place in our world. They felt cut off from their homes, and were desperate to carve an irrefutable place to belong. But Severus became obsessed with the dark arts, and Lily stepped back. I just wish she had told me what finally made her realize…”

“Are we done moaning about the moral complexities of Lily Potter?” Draco asked. “Because the splintering of the Dark Lord’s soul and subsequent merging into Potter’s body has my attention.”

“I think it just went through him,” Remus said. “It can’t lodge itself. Lily was only able to stay in his body for a few minutes, and that was with a complex binding spell to ease the process.”

“Why’d she do it anyway?” Harry muttered. He was relieved that Remus seemed to dismiss Draco’s theory. “I mean, her big plan was to die regardless. So why bother moving into my body to do it?” 

“Harry, you saw how slowly a soul moves when exiting their own body,” Remus said, trying to be patient. “That connection is strong, and difficult to overcome, even at death. In order to get the speed to hit his curse, she had to do it from a body that didn’t belong to her. A soul moves like light, except when it’s disengaging from its true corporeal self. Leaving your body would be no different than circling the world. Leaving her own body would cost her too much time.”

“We didn’t see the soul shard pass through,” Draco persisted. “And the baby didn’t suffer any exit wounds.”

“Mr. Malfoy, a soul cannot live in a body not belonging to it, except in the case of the Switch. That is the only instance I have ever read about the subject.”

“Then we need to read more,” Draco said angrily. “None of us saw evidence to support the idea that the soul left or passed through.”

“Maybe it stayed for a few minutes longer than we had the ability to view,” Remus said.

“…wait,” Harry said quietly. “…Malfoy might be right.”

Never had Draco felt such a sinking, dire portent from the accusation of being right.

“What makes you say that?” Remus said, tense.

“Quirrell.” Harry hadn’t spoken the man’s name since First Year. It haunted him. “I couldn’t look at him or be near him without agony in my scar.”

“And Quirrell is relevant because…?” Draco asked.

“Because the Dark Lord was a parasite hiding on the back of his head,” Harry said. 

“Quirrell?? That pathetic stuttering coward was a Death Eater?!”

“Big time.”

Draco was shocked. He knew the legend of the Defense Against the Dark Arts teaching position was that the Dark Lord cursed it when Dumbledore refused to hire him, so no one could hold it longer than a year. How angry the Dark Lord must have been, to share the body of a man in his coveted role and unable to reach out and seize the position himself… 

“Oh god, all this stuff with my mom makes so much sense,” Harry groaned. “At the end of First Year my touch made Quirrell’s body break apart, just like Voldemort’s did at my mother’s intervention.”

Draco’s eyes widened, too astonished at Harry’s confession to be angry that he spoke the name. “You killed a man?”

“Yes,” Harry said quietly.

“Did you know that Marjorie Hillbrockle was expelled from Hogwarts at the start of this year for killing a Hufflepuff’s pet cat?” Draco asked lightly.

“What the hell does that have to do with—”

“ _You killed a professor and weren’t so much as slapped on the wrist?!_ ”

Harry’s stomach twisted. “He was trying to kill me.”

“Always a justification with you,” Draco spat.

“Stop it,” Remus said. “Harry, this is important. Did the Dark Lord say anything when Quirrell’s body began turning to ash?”

Harry had tried to block the memory of that night, but it rushed back clear as a portrait at Remus’ prodding. “He just said, ‘Fool, get the stone’.”

Silence as Remus thought this over.

“Also…he needed my blood. In the graveyard, when rebuilding his body. He needed the blood of his enemy, but he specifically wanted mine to overcome the whole touch-to-ash thing. If my mom used blood magic to bind us so that her soul could destroy him, then my blood would inoculate him.”

“Let’s get back to this soul theory,” Remus said shortly. “Your scar hurt at the sight of the Dark Lord, you had dreams where you could see what he was doing. Yes, you have a connection, but I don’t think any piece of his soul could possibly remain in your body.”

“It’s not that I saw what he was doing, really,” Harry said, uneasy. “It’s that I was him. I experienced everything as he did.” He took a breath. “And at the Ministry last year…after Sirius. Voldemort possessed my body.”

“You said you wouldn’t say his name,” Draco muttered.

“Can you focus?!” Harry yelled. “Voldemort easily took over my body! I’m not talking imperious. I’m talking full-on possession.” His fists clenched. “If a piece of his soul was already in me, then it would make sense he could just…invade with the rest of himself as if my body belonged to him…”

“What made him leave?” Remus urged.

Harry snorted. “I don’t really know. Dumbledore said it was my love. I didn’t feel any love, I was self-loathing, and burnt, and kind of wanting to die.”

“Theory: a body is created to accommodate one soul. Theory: your body is home to your soul and to a stowaway soul-fragment. Theory: The rest of the Dark Lord’s soul trying to push itself in made the body physically reject him, since it wasn’t designed to hold three separate and distinct pieces,” Draco said. “He could possess you for a few minutes, like Lily, but he couldn’t hold you.”

The three of them looked around at each other.

“If this is true,” Remus said quietly. “Then it would make sense for Albus to lie about it all this time…until he could learn how to expel a soul without killing the body…”

“This is too much,” Harry said. “I’m out of here.” He left the classroom.

Draco shivered. He grabbed his school robe and put it on. “I’m taking off too,” he said. He glanced at Harry’s robe, and with a scowl scooped it up.

Remus nodded. “We’ve accomplished a lot today. I’ll see you both in the morning. In the meantime, I’m going to look up some books…” But Draco didn’t hear the rest, as he left the Dynamics room.

He ran after Harry.

“Potter,” he said, moving in front of him and shoving the Gryffindor robe into his chest. “I am not your fetching boy. This is a one-time thing. Be more aware.” Harry slung the robe over one arm and kept walking. Draco huffed. He hated being ignored. “Where are you going?!” He demanded, hurrying to keep pace.

“To yell at Dumbledore. Or Snape. I’m in a yelling mood, I don’t particularly care who crosses my path first.”

Draco smacked Harry upside the head. Harry turned to the boy and shoved him. “You idiot!” Draco sneered, shoving Harry back. “You can’t just go yell at them! We’re not supposed to let on what we know!”

Harry dropped his robe and grabbed Draco by the front of his robes, slamming him into the wall. “I don’t _care_!” he yelled. “I don’t care what we’re supposed to do or not do anymore!” Blue electricity snapped around them. Harry loosened his grip on Draco, looking startled at the forking shocks that cut the air.

“Potter,” Draco said carefully. “You need to get a handle on your emotions right now. I don’t know how severe accidental magic can be in an adult…”

“I have incubated the soul of the man who murdered my parents,” Harry growled. “How the hell am I supposed to back-burner that kind of revelation?!” Another blue streak cracked against the ceiling, sending chunks of stone raining down. 

“You don’t,” Draco said. “Hit me.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Harry shouted, more blue electricity shooting, slamming a painting to the ground and gashing stones open. A chandelier crashed, torn from the ceiling along with sharp lumps of stone.

“I’m in your body,” Draco said. “That means He’s lodged here. Take your anger out on him.” When Harry didn’t move, Draco punched him in the jaw.

Frenzied retaliation. Harry slammed a fist into Draco’s gut, and when the boy doubled-over in pain Harry grabbed his shoulders and threw him to the ground. Harry pinned him down, repeatedly hitting him in the face, blood everywhere. He grabbed the boy’s neck with both hands, squeezing as hard as he could. Draco clawed at Harry’s hold, trying to kick up and dislodge him somehow. 

The lightning was gone.

Harry could only see the scar, the lightning bolt he was once fond of, the mark he now knew was a symbol of Voldemort. That fucking scar, that space that allowed Voldemort in…

He looked down, and saw himself, his body, struggling for air, fighting him. Draco.

He pulled his hands away, and Draco gasped for breath, coughing. Harry trembled, still atop the boy. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Oh god, I’m so sorry…”

“Shut up,” Draco said, a tiny smile. “C’mere,” he said. Harry froze, uncertain. Draco reached a shakey arm up and pulled Harry down. He wept into Draco’s shoulder as Draco held him. “I wish I could do that to him, too,” Draco whispered. “Father was punished severely after his failure to retrieve the prophecy. I’ve never seen him so broken. I wanted to kill the Dark Lord for what he had done.”

“I thought you wanted to follow him…?” Harry asked, muffled into his chest. 

Draco paused, thoughtful. “When I was younger, it seemed…grand, somehow. But now that he’s returned, seeing the fear in my parents, the torture he inflicted on my father…No. I won’t follow him. I don’t oppose him—that’s even worse. That would target my family. But I won’t follow him.”

Harry leaned up and looked Draco in the eyes. “You agree with his ideology, just not him, then.”

Draco smirked. “Well, now you’ve got me reconsidering, with your damned ‘magic might need muggles’ theory.”

Harry gave a small smile. “I’m really sorry,” he said again, looking at the streaks of blood.

“Didn’t I say shut up?” Draco huffed, smiling back.

Harry stood up, offering his hand to help Draco. Draco clasped his hand and pulled himself up, dizzy when he stood.

“Shit,” Harry said, noticing the larger blood stain on the ground. “How hard did I slam your head?”

“Pretty hard,” Draco said, gingerly touching the back of his head. The hair matted, sticky with blood.

“Can you walk?”

“Of course I can walk,” Draco said, promptly falling as he tried to take a step unaided. Harry caught him. 

“Easy,” Harry said. He thought how far Madam Pomfrey’s ward was. “Maybe we should get you back to the Dynamics room, see if Lupin is around…”

“He was leaving for books,” Draco said, closing his eyes as intense vertigo swept him.

“Okay,” Harry said, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out a bronze button—it was a Gap jeans button. “I’m getting Hermione,” he said.

“Noooo,” Draco whined.

“Yeeees,” Harry said. He held the button with his thumb and felt it grow warm as it sent the alert and tracking coordinates to Hermione. He put it back in his pocket. “She’ll get here as soon as she can,” he said, lowering Draco to the ground. Draco gripped his head in both hands, squeezing his eyes shut and holding his breath. “It’s okay,” Harry said anxiously, sitting on the ground with him.

“If things ever stop spinning, I reserve the right to do something terrible to you,” Draco muttered. 

Harry sat with his back against the wall. “Lean against the wall, it’ll make you less dizzy,” he said, holding a hand out to help guide him in. Draco cracked his eyes open and beelined to sit curled up between Harry’s legs, resting against his chest. Harry was startled. “What are you doing?”

“You owe me,” he said, snuggling in.

Harry laughed. “Yeah, alright.”

They waited like that for only ten minutes before Hermione came running down the corridor…with Ron. 

“You might have been right about not asking Hermione,” Harry whispered to Draco. Draco looked up.

“What’s the Weasel doing with her?”

“She must have panicked.”

“Well, this will be interesting,” Draco drawled.

“What happened here?!” Hermione asked, panting for breath, looking at the destruction. “Are you both alright?”

Ron stopped short. He looked at Harry. “What’s this?” He asked, motioning to Draco in his arms.

“Afterglow,” Draco said, smiling.

“Sod off,” Harry said to Draco, grinning. He looked up at Ron. “I think he has a concussion, he needs healing.”

“Is this blood all his?” Hermione asked, kneeling down beside Harry.

“Yeah,” Harry said, immensely guilty.

“See, if you both had major head injuries, that would answer my question,” Ron said. “But since you don’t, I have to repeat: What’s this?”

Harry ignored him.

“Malfoy, can you sit up?” Hermione asked. Draco grimaced and tried to do as bidden. He was overwhelmed with nausea, and desperate not to throw up in front of people. Hermione examined his wounds and drew her wand. Draco felt the bones in his nose snap back into place, the swelling around one eye cease, the bruising around his throat ease and finally the pain in his head deflate to a minor throb, then disappear. She gave him the courtesy of cleaning the blood from his clothes.

Suddenly, Draco felt incredibly awkward. He owed Hermione Granger. _Ugh._ “Thank you,” he said formally. 

Hermione was surprised. She expected criticism. “You’re welcome,” she said, equally formal.

“If we leave now, maybe everyone will blame Peeves for the mess,” Draco said to Harry, standing up. Hermione and Harry stood with him.

“Or we could just clean it ourselves,” Ron argued. Ron raised his wand and started to repair the stone. Hermione lifted hers again and reformed the shattered chandelier, mended the splintered picture frame and re-hung the cat portrait. She beamed at Ron.

“Thanks you guys,” Harry said to his friends.

“As much as I enjoy seeing the stuffing beat out of you, it looked pretty bad in here Malfoy. You gonna tell us what gives?” Ron asked.

“It was my fault,” Harry said quietly.

“He says that about everything,” Draco said quickly. “He’d blame himself for Dragon Pox if he thought he could. He had a burst of accidental magic, and shit went wrong.”

“You did that to Malfoy?” Ron said with pride. Hermione slapped his arm lightly. 

“I shouldn’t have…been so out of control,” Harry said carefully and sincerely.

“Harry, it’s called ‘accidental magic’ for a reason,” Hermione said gently. Harry felt like scum. “I haven’t had accidental magic in years…that must be so frustrating for you to have to go through it a second time. You need to report this to Remus, especially considering how dangerous it was. You’re sure you’re okay, Malfoy?”

She sounded concerned, and Draco didn’t understand why. “Yes, top notch work, Granger. Solid ‘O’s across the board.” She smiled at him. It was alarming. He tried to smile back. “I suppose I ought to head out,” Draco said, nodding at Harry and turning to leave. After a few steps he turned back around. “And Potter?” Harry looked at him. Draco grinned. “Don’t forget your damn robe this time.”


	10. Anything...At A Cost.

Morning came too soon for Harry. He hadn’t slept well, his mind refusing to still as it churned his thoughts against what he had learned from Lupin’s ritual.

“The worst accidental magic I ever did was casting sparks like bludgers to chase Fred and George away,” Ron said as they were getting dressed. “I can’t believe you clobbered Malfoy and tore up the castle!”

“I wish I hadn’t,” Harry said, buttoning up his shirt. Guilt for attacking Malfoy sizzled and smacked in his gut.

Ron, hopping into his trousers, shot him a quizzical look. “I know you have a guilt complex the size of the earth, mate, but seriously. We’re talking Malfoy here.”

“He’s been decent,” Harry said. Ron scoffed. “Honestly,” Harry added. “He’s helping me pursue some answers about my scar.”

“Harry!” Ron yelped. “You can’t trust him!”

Harry thought about everything he had been forced to tell Draco, everything Draco had confided in return. Their frank discussions from yesterday. Draco letting himself be beaten to secure Harry’s magic. “I know it sounds weird…but I do.”

“Don’t get suckered into his head-games,” Ron warned. 

“It’s not a game,” Harry said. “We have to work together if we’re going to try to use magic in each other’s bodies.” Ron rolled his eyes. Harry continued hotly, “It’s either trust each other, or we both give up magic. And that last option is never gonna happen.” He was knotting his tie when he felt something in his pocket grow warm through the fabric. Harry pulled out the three buttons, the bronze Gap, Ron’s wooden four-hole, and the blue riveted-edged. The latter was glowing. “Malfoy,” he said, surprised.

“Oh, no. You did _not_ get Hermione to make him one of those,” Ron griped.

Harry grabbed his robe and rushed out of the room. Ron watched his friend leave, hiding his anxiousness and jealousy beneath anger.

Draco was already at the front doors of the Dynamics room when Harry arrived. “What happened?” Harry asked, clearly worried.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” Draco said. He started walking down the hall, and Harry walked alongside him. 

“Where are we going?” Harry asked.

“You’ll see. We can’t talk here.”

“Alright,” Harry agreed. It wasn’t until Draco stopped at a very familiar portrait that Harry started getting suspicious. “Malfoy. Why have you led us to the kitchens?”

Malfoy reached up to the portrait and tickled the pear, opening the secret entrance to the castle’s kitchens. “I’m kidnapping you, Potter.” he said with a grin. He stepped through the newly formed door, holding it open for Harry. Harry shook his head at the boy, grinning, and followed. He walked into the kitchens, wondering what the hell Draco was up to. He led Harry down to the back of the kitchens, to a side room which kept all the dishware. Massive wooden cabinets with glass panes in their doors showed the hundreds of plates and bowls and cups stacked within. These cabinets lined every wall, and were clearly the singular purpose of this room. Yet…A simple table with a blue cloth spread over it and two chairs waited for them. Harry raised his eyebrows at Draco. “What’s this?”

“It’s called breakfast. You’re joining me today.”

Harry laughed at his arrogance and assumption. “You can’t just ask like a normal person, you have to scheme and manipulate?”

“Do you remember what House I’m in?” Draco asked incredulously.

“Just to make sure I understand your convoluted idiocy,” Harry started, “You’re telling me there’s no big emergency. This stunt is just for my attention.”

“If by ‘convoluted idiocy’ you mean ‘chess master genius’, then yes, that about sums it up.” Draco gave a cheeky grin.

“For the record, Ron is the chess master,” Harry said, enjoying the way Draco’s eyes flashed in reaction. It was strange to see his rival’s glint in green, but he welcomed signs of the spirit pressing through.

“I would whip his arse in any match,” Draco said proudly, a peacock spreading its plumage in conceited boasting.

“I dunno,” Harry said. “He defeated the live wizards chess that protected the Philosopher’s Stone when he was only in Year One.” 

“Really? Weasley did that?” It was the first time Draco ever spoke about Ron with something close to consideration. Draco would never admit it, but learning how great Ron’s mastery of the game was made him want to play a match with the Gryffindor for the fun of playing an equal. He was starting to memorize Greg’s favourite strategies, and it made the game a little dull. Draco hadn’t had any other real competition in ages. He shook his head. “Well, as fascinating as it is to learn about the Cunning Weasel, the opening gambit remains…” He held out a chair and sat with coiled grace, keeping eye contact with Harry. 

“If I stay,” Harry said, knowing that he would, “You can’t use that button for every whim and social call. It has to be for emergencies, you twat.”

“I usually send paper cranes with my messages,” Draco said, taking his button from his pocket. “But until our class with Lupin progresses, I don’t have another way to contact you.” He rolled the button across his knuckles. “So untwist your knickers and sit down.” He smiled at Harry: gauntlet thrown. 

Harry relented; he was curious to have a chance at being social with Malfoy. He pulled out a chair and sat. Draco pocketed the button once more. Harry found himself suddenly nervous. “So,” he said, carefully casual. “What’s with the sudden desire to socialize?” 

Draco didn’t bat an eye. “Did you tell your friends about yesterday-- everything you learned, everything that happened?” Harry’s face heated. He said nothing. “I didn’t think so,” Draco said quietly. “I wanted to see how you are.”

“I’m fine,” Harry said, the false words coming easily to him.

Draco watched him, waiting. Harry stubbornly refused to elaborate. “Potter, you and I have always told each other exactly what we think. We don’t pussy-foot around subjects and we don’t play pretend with each other. If becoming your friend means you’re going to start hiding yourself from me, I’ll walk right now.”

Harry’s breath caught and he looked away. He wasn’t used to burdening people with his stuff. It had been ingrained in him by the Dursley’s that nobody wanted to hear it, that expressing his fear or pain would only lead to punishment. He left Ron and Hermione ignorant of the abuse, of the insecurities that plagued him and the terror he would get from Voldemort’s visions, never spoke to them about grieving the loss of the Mirror of Erised or Cedric Diggory, never sharing his self-loathing and anguish for leading his godfather to his death. Draco wanted a friendship that was authentic in all his faults and fears. Could he handle a friendship like that? Where he didn’t have to be afraid of pity or insincerity? 

“I’m still trying to wrap my head around everything,” Harry said softly. He looked up at Draco. “I wanna deck Snape, which isn’t particularly new.” He smiled. Draco smiled back. Harry took a deep breath, knowing he was stalling. “Watching my mother…” he stopped. The image of her jumping at the crashing noise from her husband’s final battle saturated his mind. His heart started beating rapidly. The fear in her eyes… “She was so scared,” he said quietly. “And so brave, and so brilliant.” He paused. “I wish I could have seen my dad. Which is crazy, cuz it’s the moment of his murder. But…I’d have a memory of him. How he held his wand. His go-to curses for defense. Flashes of courage through death. Anything.” He smiled. “I must sound so stupid.”

“No,” Draco said. “I can’t imagine not having memory of my family.” He smirked and added, “Well, I could do without knowing Aunt Bella.” Harry cringed at hearing Bellatrix given titles of endearment, even in the context of someone wishing he didn’t know her. 

“Good to know there’s no love lost there,” Harry said. He sighed, pushing himself to meet the crux of Draco’s question. “And now we think some broken piece of my parents’ murderer is lodged in my head. Does that mean this thing is dead and just stuck? Or is it still alive and hibernating? --can it wake up?” Harry growled in frustration. “I hate not knowing something so important.”

“It makes me sick to say it, but I suspect it’s alive,” Draco said. “At least, on some level…otherwise it wouldn’t serve as a tether to You-Know-Who.”

Breakfast appeared in front of them, and both boys started loading their plates from the assortment of dishes. “Why won’t you say his name?” Harry asked. “Is it fear, respect, what?”

“It’s just not done,” Draco said. “Potter, if I started using the name, all of Slytherin House would panic. I’m not exaggerating. They would be writing home, and their parents would speculate against my father’s loyalty, and the consequences would be unthinkable.”

“It’s for protection then,” Harry said, nodding. “I can get that.”

“Then will you please, for the love of all that grows, stop saying it with my mouth already?!”

“I tried, but I don’t believe in giving him power over what I can and can’t do.” Harry shrugged. “Your House knows I say it, they won’t think anything against you if I keep   
saying it.”

Draco couldn’t argue with that logic and groaned uncomfortably. “Fiiiiiiine.”

“If it makes you feel better, I can give him a nick-name.”

“No.”

“Moldy Voldy.”

“No!”

Harry chuckled, enjoying their quiet breakfast immensely. “So, in the spirit of checking in with each other,” Harry started. “How are you holding up after Blaise?”

Draco stiffened. He let out a hard breath through his nose. “It’s been hell,” he admitted. “They’re all watching, judging how their prince holds up. Scrutiny doesn’t normally bother me, but this is different. They’re looking at our relationship like scavengers picking at carrion.” He looked away. “I loved him,” he said, wonder stitched to wound. He grimaced and looked back up at Harry. “But that was before I realized he valued sexuality over people. That kind of tarnishes what I thought I knew about him.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked.

“I mean,” Draco said slowly. “That he broke up with me because I didn’t want him touching me when I was you.”

Harry’s breath caught. “Malfoy—when I bugged you about making out with Pansy—I was being selfish.”

“Potter--”

“No hear me out,” Harry said. “I was just surprised at the idea and I reacted badly. My first time in that body is going to be my first time no matter what, so do what you’re gonna do. It’s not worth losing someone you love.”

The enormity of the gift Harry offered was not lost on Draco. Something lonely inside him ached. “You self-sacrificing twit,” he said affectionately. “I didn’t want him touching someone who wasn’t me.”

“Oh…heh, yeah, that makes sense,” Harry said, rubbing the back of his neck and grinning sheepishly. “Were you together long?”

“He’s my first love. That makes a day long and a year not enough.” He cleared his throat. “Four months, if you want a number.”

“That’s rough,” Harry said. 

“Yeah, well. His mother has re-married seven times, it makes sense that his idea of emotional attachment is different from mine.”

“That kind of disillusionment…that has to be puncturing.”

“It is,” Draco said with a sad smile. “But once I get the hang of your magic, I’ll just hex him so his balls hang from his chin and everything will be right with the world once more.” Harry laughed, and the sound strengthened Draco’s smile. 

Noticing they had both finished eating, Draco said, “If we head out now, we can make it to the Great Hall for a quick appearance with our Houses before class.”

“Good call,” Harry said, standing.

They walked through the kitchens, and when they returned to the entranceway Draco stopped. “Potter, one more thing,” he said. He touched the lightning bolt scar significantly. “If it’s dead, that’s fantastic. If it’s alive, that means we get to kill it. Win-win, either way.”

Harry, tentative, said: “We?”

“I’m in this body, you better believe I’m going to do what I can to carve that thing out.” Harry smirked and started to turn towards the entranceway. Draco took his arm, and Harry looked back at him. “Even if we switch first. You can count on it.”

Harry gave a tiny smile. 

When the pair entered the Great Hall, they shot each other a quick glance, an acknowledgement before splitting apart to join their House tables.

Harry found Ron and Ginny sitting beside each other, with Hermione across from Ron. Harry sat down across from Ginny, smiling at his friends. 

“Great timing, you missed breakfast,” Ginny said. “Want my toast?”

“Thanks, I’m alright, you go ahead,” Harry said. Ginny smiled at him.

“Is Malfoy alright?” Hermione asked. “Ron said he used his button already.” She anxiously glanced at the Slytherin table.

“Yeah, he’s fine,” Harry said. 

“I knew it,” Ron said. “The ponce was just messing with you.”

“Don’t be that way,” Harry said angrily. “He just wanted to make sure I was okay before class. After everything that went down yesterday…he was worried.”

“Worried you were gonna thrash him again, maybe.” 

“Worried, as in concerned how I’m doing!”

“Oh, come on,” Ron said. “You said you were fine immediately after. He just wanted to see if you’d come running like a trained dog if he actually had the nerve to use that button.” 

“That’s not it,” Harry grated. “He knows how much power I used, he knew it was intense. We’re actually becoming friends.” Harry wanted to kick himself the moment the words left his mouth. This wasn’t how he wanted to break the news to Ron, in anger. 

Ron groaned. “Harry. He hates Hermione for being muggleborn, he hates me for being poor, and he’s been obsessed with you since day one. None of these are good reasons to befriend someone.”

Harry looked away, ashamed and angry, not knowing how to explain what he had learned about Malfoy. Knowing that what Ron said made sense… but also knowing that Ron’s words weren’t the limit to Draco’s character. He turned to look at the Slytherin table, watching Malfoy. _How do I make them see you?_ \--Harry wondered. Feeling his eyes, Draco met his gaze and grinned when he caught the boy staring. Harry made a face at him, and Draco retaliated in kind, much to Goyle’s disapproval. 

Greg whispered to his friend, “Flirting with Potter is dangerous.”

“I don’t flirt with straight blokes,” Draco said.

“You want him. People are watching you now more than ever.”

“I know, Greg,” Draco said solemnly. “I’ll be more careful.” Greg’s already small eyes narrowed to slits. ‘More careful’ in his understanding of the phrase typically meant ‘I’m going to keep doing what I shouldn’t’. He sighed, concerned.

Harry looked back at his friends. “I know it’s not fair to ask you to understand, when I can’t tell you the things that made me change my mind. But please try anyway?”

Hermione looked bewildered. “Harry…I know you’re going through a lot with him…but that doesn’t erase years of bullying.”

“Or the fact that he’s a Death Eater in training,” Ron piped up.

“He’s not,” Harry hissed. He glanced around, and realized he had better not say anything more about politics with so many potential eavesdroppers. “Hermione,” Harry said urgently. “Ron and I made fun of you in First Year. We made you cry. But then we shared an experience that changed everything, and now you’re like a sister to me. Something’s happening here, with Malfoy, and I’m sorry we’re not sharing the experience together but I swear it’s every bit as real.”

Hermione pursed her lips, troubled and thoughtful.

“I gotta get to class,” Ginny said, with a disproportionate amount of anger to the phrase. She glared at Harry as she stood and left. Harry watched her go, pained. 

“Real to you doesn’t mean real to him,” Ron said. “Don’t trust him. He’s got an angle, he’s selfish and manipulative. You have no idea what’s real to him.” Scowling, Ron scraped his chair back and stood. “I can’t believe we’re fighting about this,” he added as he stormed off.

Harry closed his eyes, feeling exhausted and hollowed out. A hand squeezed his shoulder. He looked over and saw Hermione smiling at him. “I’ll try,” she said quietly.

* *

When Harry got to the Dynamics room, Draco was already seated in the same spot as he was when Remus made him move to the front. Harry decided to take a risk. Instead of sitting with an empty desk between them, he sat next to him. Draco looked surprised. The boys grinned at each other.

Remus arrived, dark circles under his eyes and the glint of pepper-up potion filming his face. “Good morning,” Remus said to them both, interested to see them sitting next to each other. “I spent the rest of my day and night reading yesterday, and could not find anything to support our theory regarding the splintered soul. However, the more I thought about it, the more it made sense.” He looked at Draco and nodded. “I think you’re right. Albus would have no other reason to lie. It’s imperative that we learn if this has ever happened before, so we can better predict how it works and how to destroy it. How it works is vital, because most things that lie dormant have a trigger.” He looked at Harry. “However, you have not only been in contact with the Dark Lord, you have shared your blood and he has invaded your body through possession. I can’t imagine stronger triggers than those, so I believe we are not in any current danger.” He smiled kindly. “Nevertheless, it’s important to learn anything and everything we can about this situation. I will keep looking, and will update you when I learn anything of importance.” Remus paused, and looked between the two boys, waiting to see if either had any questions. When they remained silent, he continued. “Today, we will begin our practical lessons in magic--”

“Praise Morgana in all of her majesty,” Draco said.

“—after a brief review the general applications.”

“Of course,” Draco said snidely. Harry snickered and nudged Draco in the ribs lightly, leaning over to whisper, “Just one more obstacle before you can hex Blaise…”

Draco grinned and elbowed him back.

“As I mentioned in our first lesson,” Remus began. “We are used to controlling magic, to ideas of ownership and to claim utilization as a right. For you, that’s no longer the case. You have zero access to your magic. Instead, you are given the unnatural ability to tap into someone else’s. You have no ownership, no claim. If magic responds to you, it is not only because you’re performing the spell correctly or focusing your determination; it’s because you’ve connected to the magic.”

Harry looked uneasy. ‘Connected to the magic’, what did that mean? How was he supposed to do something like that?

“In this state, you will be far more powerful. By using the magic of another, you will have broken the rules of magic, and subsequently be without limitation.” Remus paused, seeing the heavy burden of responsibility sink into Harry, seeing the ambition and daydream glitter in Draco. “There’s a catch,” he said, holding Draco’s gaze before continuing. “Historical records of those afflicted by the Switch have all suffered degrees of cost. This unnatural casting causes erosion of magic. Now, with ordinary spells, the diminution is so slight as to not be noticed by the user. In some cases, it’s even repaired itself. They were only made aware of the damage though tests. However…those who abused their newfound powers discovered a remarkable lessening in their abilities once returned to their original bodies. For some, it was simply that no other wand could respond to them—no wand, other than the one who had already chosen them, recognized their segmented, rotted magic. For some, they were left barren, their magic burned away. These folks were indistinguishable from muggles.”

“No,” Draco whispered, horrified.

“I’m afraid so,” Remus said. “Which is why you will not be performing wandless magic, or forcing the Switch back, or whatever other absurd thing you might think up.” He smiled, teasing. “Do what you know you can, what is in the realm of the possible, and you should be just fine. Start going against the laws of magic, and you’ll pull it off…at a cost to the person whose body you’re in. You’ll feel an itch in your veins. Magic flaking away. If you ever feel this, stop what you’re doing immediately.” Remus looked at his pupils, noticing how deeply anxious Draco had become. “You’re both safe, your magic will be fine. Respect the limits you would normally be confined to, and you’ll have nothing to fear.”

Harry was filled with a grim dread. The words of the prophecy felt like swords through his chest: _He will have power the Dark Lord knows not._ He couldn’t tell them about the prophecy. Not if it meant Harry would have to use this power…and erode Draco’s magic. He felt sick. 

“Now then,” Remus began. “Take out your wands. Get up, and stand here and here.” Remus pointed his wand twice, and two ‘x’s indicated where he wanted them to stand. “We shall begin with a simple spell. Some of the main difficulties you’ll face will be connecting to the magic and giving up control, while concurrently limiting the stream that responds. Think of it this way: you have a faucet. You do not control the water. But you can choose whether the water will gush or trickle.” Remus smiled at them. “It’s tricky, trying to balance. Your release of control must come from a place of humility. Do not demand your magic. Request. Acknowledge its infiniteness, its mystery and power. Form an image of what you want to cast, let the image consume you, reach out to that power within and forge that connection…when the magic accepts your request, the rest should come naturally.”

Harry felt horribly awkward. He spent his whole childhood suppressing his magic, trying to shove it away and keep a tight control for fear of the Dursleys…and now he’s supposed to –what, exactly? He didn’t understand, and he felt stupid that Draco seemed to be taking this all in like it made perfect sense.

Remus set up a long table across from them. He placed two tall candles as targets and stepped back. “Light the candle.”

“Sir,” Draco sneered the word, clearly disapproving of the title for someone as ‘unqualified’ as Remus. “Elemental magic isn’t for beginners. You said we would do something simple.”

“This is the first spell I had to learn after my magic became compromised,” he said. “Lighting the candle is an exercise that imbibes the zen mindframe you will need.” Remus pulled up a chair and sat, watching the boys and watching the candles.

Draco rolled his eyes and took out his wand. Harry quickly took his own wand out, but kept sneaking glances at Draco, trying to figure out his strategy. Draco closed his eyes, and was breathing slow. Harry turned to face his candle again, and copied Draco. His mind flooded with questions and concern. He tried to concentrate on the spell—but that was wrong, wasn’t it? He tried to imagine his magic like a muscle in his chest, and envisioned it contracting its power outward like he wanted. _C’mon, please work,_ he thought. _Just light the candle. It’s easy, you’ve done it before._

Nothing happened. He felt foolish and frustrated. He looked over at Draco, and saw his body loose and relaxed, his face serene…and his arm on fire.

“Remus,” Harry said urgently. Remus held up a hand, motioning for silence, watching Draco intently. The fire crept up his elbow, a slinking voyeur wanting a better look. Draco breathed deeply, and just as the fire reached his shoulder joint, he brandished his wand like a whip. The fire roiled down his arm and shot like a fire-hose at the candle, melting it and engulfing the wooden table. Shocked, Draco tried to snap his wand back to end the spell, and the fire shot upwards, aimless. Remus cast quickly, dousing the flames and helping Draco end his spell.

Draco was ashamed that he lost control. He knew logically that letting go of control had been the exercise, but he berated himself harshly for having let go so entirely that it became unmanageable and dangerous.

“Thank you,” Draco said, feeling shaky but trying to hide it. “I’ve never had that level of power over fire. Did…” he swallowed, his self-fury and guilt forming a lump. “Did that do damage to Potter’s magic? You said there’s a test, can you check?”

“It’s alright, Mr. Malfoy,” Remus assured. “That was entirely within a wizard’s ability, you broke no magical laws. Please don’t take my warnings to mean you must exercise paranoia over anything powerful. Just don’t purposely test your abilities.” Remus scanned Draco’s wand arm. “And yes, that was powerful. You didn’t burn yourself at all, that’s a difficult spell. But not impossible, so stop fretting. Clearly, you will need to work on precision and restraint.” Draco nodded. “Harry, what held you back?”

Draco looked at Harry. “Held you back? You mean you couldn’t…perform?” he smiled wickedly.

“Shut up,” Harry said.

“In other words, I beat you in all of magic?”

“Mr. Malfoy,” Remus warned. “This was never a competition.”

“You’re kidding yourself, of course it was. It always is with us,” Draco said, feeling elated. Harry couldn’t tell if he wanted to kill the boy or just die himself, he was so irritated and embarrassed. 

“Mr. Potter,” Remus turned to Harry, ignoring Draco. “What held you back?”

Harry felt his face heating up. “I don’t know,” he muttered. “I just don’t really get how I’m supposed to do it.”

Remus kept repeating things Harry thought he might find in a fortune cookie, lines like “Calm your mind and you will find your centre” and “Let the magic find you”. It only made Harry more frustrated. 

“Okay,” Remus said, seeing Harry wall-up like James used to do when his agitation would peak. “Let’s take our break early, shall we? Reconvene here in twenty minutes.” He left the class room.

Draco watched Harry closely as the boy strode to the table and kicked its leg. The table, being quite heavy, skid across the floor but did not turn over. “This is so stupid,” Harry growled.

“Yeah, well. I said from the start the whole ‘light the candle’ idea was bunk,” Draco said. He moved to Harry’s side. “What’s your favourite spell?”

Harry’s frustration was getting the better of him. His shoulders were tight and his mind was rapidly closing. He tried to shuck off his failure, and cracked the doors open. 

“Everyone has spells they enjoy using more than others. I hear the she-Weasel is partial to the bat-boogey hex,” Draco prodded.

“Don’t call her that,” Harry said automatically. But his mind was thinking of what spell he might consider a favourite… “The Patronus Charm,” he said.

Draco snorted lightly. “Right. Of course Harry-bloody-Potter would choose an incredibly advanced spell as his favourite. Nothing common for famous Potter.” Harry rolled his eyes at Draco, a smile trespassing along his mouth. “Give it a shot,” Draco suggested. “Using a favourite puts less stress on your concentration.”

“The spell isn’t the problem,” Harry muttered. “It’s the entire concept.” Harry waited for the teasing.

But it never came.

“You wanna know what I’m doing?” Draco asked. Harry nodded. “I’m imagining your magic blending together with my spirit and both energies filling this body together, so my desires and its desires become one.” 

Harry narrowed his eyes. It sounded hokey. But at least it was a direct instruction: visualize A to get to B. Harry shrugged. He closed his eyes. He let his thoughts tumble through happy memories, and remembered the glee when Ron, Fred, and George rescued him from the Dursleys in their flying car. His mouth twitched into a smile reflexively. He let the memory consume him: they came for him. They tore away the bars on his window and they rescued him. They loved him.

When the memory filled every space he had, he felt tranquility like a quilt warm around him. _Patronus,_ he thought, laying the word bare and unassuming. He imagined Draco’s magic confined and hiding somewhere in his center, and imagined it spreading through his body, confident and proud, safe and in harmony with the body they shared. _Patronus,_ he asked, an invitation.

He felt it—a fingertap from inside his chest. He knew he had attained allegiance.

“Expecto Patronum!” Harry said, eyes open in knowing triumph.

The silver figure that appeared was not a stag. Harry was shocked to see a raven beating smokey, powerful wings, and dark antlers twisting out of the crown of its head like branches.

“Is that…Malfoy, is that your Patronus?” Harry asked.

“I don’t know,” Draco said. “I’ve never cast the charm. It’s beautiful, though… whose ever it is.”

Harry knew Tonks’s Patronus had changed that year out of mourning. Did his change because he used different magic to conjure it? Or did Draco’s magic summon Draco’s Patronus? 

Was this a real creature, or some mutated combination of his stag and –in theory— Draco’s raven? What would it mean if the magic tried to combine a symbol of the spirit with that of another?

“I dare you to send that thing to chase Lupin,” Draco said. 

“And jumpstart class again? No way,” Harry said, as the Patronus landed softly on Draco’s shoulder. Draco froze, not sure what it could do, and it rubbed its antlers affectionately against the side of his head. Draco felt a tingling breeze, and happily drowned in its merciless tranquility. The creature nipped his ear and flew on, and Draco felt the chill of its absence. He understood now what his father told him: a Patronus Passing could be addictive. 

“Thanks,” Harry said quietly. Draco looked so damn smug, that Harry twitched his wand and sent the Patronus to charge him. The raven opened its beak, a silent kaw, and lowered its great antlers as it dove. It puffed impressively in Draco’s face, scaled legs extended to almost mirror the rough bark-like antlers. Draco yelped from the unexpected speed, throwing up an arm to protect his face from the onslaught. But of course, the Patronus could not harm him, nor did Harry want it to. Harry laughed, and Draco stepped back from the Patronus and tried to recover his dignity. “Bad form, Potter,” he said.

“I’ll teach you the charm and you can defend yourself,” Harry said. He was curious what Draco’s casting would look like, and felt that some secret scale of fairness would be righted if Harry could repay Draco’s instruction with one of his own.

That, and the sixteen year old boy thought it would be so damn cool to make the Patronuses have fighting matches against each other. He had images of Nintendo Street Fighter or Pokemon, but only in real life with forces of light. 

“I know the charm,” Draco reminded him. “Focus on a happy memory, blah blah blah. I just can’t do it.”

“I taught everyone in the D.A. last year, I can teach you.”

“I don’t have a memory strong enough,” Draco snapped. More evenly, he continued, “Even my best memories are woven with what I could have done better, what political thing was working in the background, guilt…I tried, I can’t, just leave it.”

Harry stubbornly pursed his lips. “I did it. Despite my parents being murdered, despite the Dursleys, despite being hunted every day by a madman who wants to kill me. That means a pampered little shit like you can do it.” Harry realized Draco was getting just as stubborn to not do it, only in order to be right. He quickly tried a new tactic. “Neville Longbottom can do it.”

Draco narrowed his eyes. “No, he can’t.”

Harry grinned. “Yeah, actually. He can. But that’s okay. Maybe Neville’s just a better wizard than you are.”

“A better—” Draco sputtered. “Schlongbottom is _not_ a better wizard than I am!”

“Prove it,” Harry said simply. “If I could teach him, I can teach you.”

Draco steamed, thinking. “If Longbottom can produce a corporeal Patronus on command, then I’ll give your lessons a try. A very limited try.”

“Deal.”

They spent the rest of the morning focusing on the candle exercise. Harry continued to have trouble with it, at the last second clamping down control automatically. Only a dribble of fire reached the wick of his candle, making it glow and sputter out. Like Draco predicted, the Patronus charm was an ingrained preference; the rest of magic would take practice. Draco had the opposite problem, and his magic kept an all-or-nothing regiment. 

At lunch, Ron and Ginny made a point of sitting further down the Gryffindor table than normal. “Are you kidding me?” Harry said, sitting across from Hermione and watching his friends ignore him. 

“They’re just worried about you, give them time to figure things out,” Hermione soothed. “How was class?” she asked. Harry moaned and complained about how cryptic and difficult it was. Hermione wished dearly she could help him, but intuitively connecting was not her strong suit; it was why she had trouble riding brooms. “Oh!” she said, the realisation making her gasp. “Harry, how do you ride a broom?” He looked at her quizzically. “You work with the broom, right? You have faith that it will do its part properly, as long as you do yours? Everytime you start to seize up at the end of a spell, just think of riding a broom and have faith in Malfoy’s magic.”

Harry’s eyes lit up. Finally, something that made sense. “Hermione, you’re amazing,” Harry said. She grinned, thrilled that she could help figure it out.

Harry re-entered class with confidence, and by the end of the day he lit the candle perfectly. Draco continued to have more flame than necessary, but he had improved significantly by practicing all afternoon.

As students filed into the Great Hall for dinner, Dumbledore watched them carefully. A disturbing number of students had come to him to argue against the use of the Hogwarts Secret. Several cases of students attempting to override it had been made. One student tried to Imperious another into writing a letter about what had happened. The battle between the secrecy curse and the Unforgivable scarred her mind so deeply that she fell into a coma. It took two days for Madam Pomfrey to revive her. Numerous other attempts at communicating the situation had been made, but none as dire—and so far, none successful. There is great power in apologizing: those who oppose you are brought to your side through forgiveness. With this in mind, Dumbledore stood from his seat. “Students of Hogwarts,” He boomed for their attention. The Great Hall stilled. “I fear the Hogwarts Secret has caused much resentment among you. I acknowledge that it is an extreme breach, and I apologize for my use of force.” He paused. “But with lives at stake, I could do nothing less than use my full power to prevent such a cost. We are officially at war. And unfortunately, many students come from homes of those who support Voldemort’s reign. This puts our school in the precarious position of protecting a range of individuals, from the Chosen One himself to anyone aspiring to join Voldemort. With that in mind, I could not in good conscience allow the possibility of anyone jeopardizing the safety of my students, and extreme measures had to be taken.

“However…I recognize the injustice at forcefully revoking your freedom of speech. I want you to know that I agree with each and every one of you, that this step is a travesty and I wish it didn’t have to be made.

“In my apology, I would like to offer a series of tokens: new privileges that you do not normally have access to during the school year. This can in no way undo the harm in my curse, but I hope that you find I am trying in the only way I know how to reissue some state of fairness.” He paused again, gauging the reactions. Students began chattering, thinking somehow they would not be noticed, and he gave them a brief leash to do so.

“The first token,” he began again, scanning the crowd for attention. “Will be in one week. Halloween is one of our greatest holidays, and although we at Hogwarts decorate lavishly in celebration, we do not normally allow the festivities you may find at home.” The twinkle in his eye seemed to flash a wink. “Therefore, this Halloween, for the first time in Hogwarts history, we will expand ourselves to include a variety of traditions and opportunities for you to indulge in.” A chorus of guesses, hopes and demands filled the air. Dumbledore held out a hand, silently requesting their continued attention. A few minutes longer than he would have liked, they quieted. “Samhain is not simply the new year: it is a time in between time. Magic is at its strongest, the dead who rest peacefully may reach across the divide, and divination is accessible even to muggles.” The ghosts perked up importantly at the part about the dead. “Accessible all-day: students will be allowed to transfigure their school robes into costumes. For those of you who need help with the charms, Professor Flitwick has a sign-up sheet and will gladly assist you. Please use common sense when choosing costumes. While Anachoridia the Unflattered may be a wonderful feminist icon, attending school wearing nothing but a feather headdress will not be tolerated.” Giggles sprayed across the room. “Donning costumes and masks was, in our earliest traditions, meant to either hide from or represent spirits and gods. This ritual caught on within muggle circles, and they currently will dress as any avatar that pleases them.” Some snickers from purebloods across the school. “All appropriate forms of costuming will be welcomed here at Hogwarts, be they muggle inspired or traditional.” Dumbledore said. “Accessible to all students after dinner: we will serve Fuarag for dessert.” Chittering broke out as those with wizarding parents who knew the tradition grew excited or groaned. “Fuarag is a great treat made of oatmeal and thick cream churned until froathy. It is served in a large bowl meant for half a dozen to consume together. Everyone dives in with their spoons, but be careful you don’t eat your fortune.” He smiled at them. “If you are unsure what your item means, inquire around you. In turn, if you see someone unsure, promote community and offer your family’s interpretation.” He paused again before continuing. “Available to all students after dinner: Professor Trelawny will supervise a multitude of divination stations, aimed from our most traditional rituals inquiring after luck, health, death and marriage. Perhaps most exciting of all, I’m afraid, is this last offering made only to those in Year Five and above.” Some petulant noises from the younger years. “Masks have incredible power, and on Samhain their might can be unchained. Wearing a mask on Halloween, under proper ritual, can allow the wearer to absorb the power of whatever creature their mask portrays. Professors McGonagall and Snape will be supervising, and will require you to sign up in advance. You will be given a choice of masks provided, which will be pre-treated with the less exciting work of ritual so they will be ready for you. This is an opportunity to become whatever animal you’ve always wanted to be, to fly, to breathe underwater, to feel the raw power and the grace unreachable to humans. A warning,” Dumbledore spoke his last words harsher, meaning to recaptivate his audience. “Masked experiences are very real, and take you into another world. You may temporarily lose yourself to your mask. Depending on the age and power of the mask, it may speak to you. This can be disconcerting to some. Our professors are equipped to handle any situation that may break out, you will be entirely safe. But some masks are darker than others, and may lead you someplace you don’t want to be. If you’re willing to take the risk, it’s an experience unlike any other.” He smiled gently. “I’ve talked enough. Eat up! Enjoy. And know that more privileges will be opened to you throughout the year.”

The Great Hall filled with chatter.

“I haven’t dressed up for Halloween since I was a little girl,” Hermione gushed. “I have so many ideas…what are you going to dress up as?” She asked Harry. Harry shrugged. “I’m already in costume, really,” he joked, giving her a deflecting smile. It didn’t work. 

“Oh come on! It’ll be fun. What would you want to be? I could help you.”

“Honestly, ‘Mione, Halloween was never a big deal to me,” Harry said. “The Dursleys only took me out so the neighbours wouldn’t ask about me, and so Dudley could have my sack of candy. I had the exact same costume every single year: Bedsheet ghost.”

“Ohh, Harry,” Hermione gave an uncomfortable laugh. “That’s awful!”

“Yeah well. My last Halloween, I was ten, and as Dudley and I are walking ahead of my aunt and uncle, Dudders grabs my arm and tells me he used my costume as his spunk sheet all night the night before.” Hermione looked horrified and Harry laughed. “I had just thought it was smelling musty from being in storage all year. When he explained to me what he meant, in graphic detail, I freaked out and threw the sheet to the ground. My aunt and uncle were furious at the scene I was making, but I refused to put it back on. Uncle Vernon took me home—” _and beat me until I couldn’t stand._ “—and wouldn’t let me go back out trick or treating,” he said instead. 

“Clearly, you need to have at least one Halloween where you’re not a bedsheet ghost,” Hermione insisted. “And you certainly need a better Halloween than that to be your last!” Harry laughed. “Just think about it. You could be a knight, you’d make a wonderful knight Harry. Or--” Hermione continued making suggestions, and Harry tuned her out for a bit, nodding thoughtfully in all the right places. He wasn’t interested in wearing a costume in Draco’s body. It was too weird. He knew his decision would be more acceptable to Hermione if he pretended to consider.

Suddenly, Draco was standing at his side. “Finished eating yet, Potter? You and I have a bet to settle.”

“What, here?!” Harry asked. He glanced over at Neville. His friend had gained a world of confidence over the last year, but he still had performance anxiety in crowds. Malfoy wanted him to do the Patronus charm in front of the entire school, in front of Snape?!

“You said he could produce a Patronus on command,” Draco drawled, the sound deeper in Harry’s voice. 

“Yeah but…that’s unfair!” Harry said.

“Unexpected is not the same as unfair. Can he do it, or not?”

Harry paused to think. He knew Neville could, in all technical aspects, do it. But…he would be facing several fears, to do it in front of everybody and with Snape’s judgement hovering over him. Could Harry help him past that?

“Whom are we talking about?” Hermione inquired politely.

“Longbottom,” Draco said without looking at her.

“Of course he can do it,” Hermione said. “And fully corporeal, too!” 

“That would, indeed, be impressive,” Draco said, smiling at her.

“Well, he had an excellent teacher,” Hermione beamed at Harry. 

“Yeah, he can do it,” Harry said. He stood up from his seat and walked to where Neville was eating the last of his dinner. “Hey, Neville,” Harry started, unsure how to diplomatically—

“Potter and I have a bet,” Malfoy interjected. Harry closed his eyes. _That fucker._

“Uh, yeah,” Harry said, looking sheepishly at Neville. “See, I told him how powerful your Patronus is. Would you indulge me and cast it?”

Neville looked between the two boys. “Here?” he asked, voice flat. Harry’s heart dropped. This was too big for him, Harry was going to humiliate his friend—

“Yeah,” Harry said, forcing himself to stop thinking. “You faced down a hoarde of Death Eaters and broke into the Ministry. You got this.”

Neville looked at Draco, the face of his friend sneering back at him. He knew Malfoy didn’t think he could do it. It was such an impossible idea to Malfoy, that he made a bet over it. It made Neville angry, but it also disheartened him. Was he honestly such a terrible wizard that this is how others spent their time? Making bets on his abilities? “I don’t think our professors would want me to have a Patronus flying in the Great Hall,” he mumbled quietly.

“By ‘our professors’, you mean Snape,” Draco said. “Who, by the way, is watching with keen interest what I’m doing at your table, so you’ll have his full attention.”

“Knock it off, Malfoy,” Harry said. “Look, Neville, I’ve seen you do this spell dozens of times. You’re aces. You’re not the same kid who bumbled about in First Year, you’re a badass wizard. If I could have asked for anyone to be at my side last year, I would have chosen you.”

He didn’t believe Harry. He was pretty sure Harry wouldn’t have chosen him…but he thought back to something Luna had said to him recently: _Let go of what you are, to become what you can be._ What better time than now?

Neville stood up, brandishing his wand. “Alright,” he said quietly. “Give me a minute.” He ignored Draco’s snicker as he closed his eyes and concentrated on his happiest memory. The scent of bubblegum filled him, as he concentrated on the singular moment when his mother recognized him and gave him the wrapper as a gift. He imagined what she saw it as—something precious. And as she saw it, so it had become. The same way that she looked at her son. “Expecto Patronum!” he said, force and deliberation. An eight foot tall silver bear towered over them, shaking its shaggy head and roaring silently as it padded on all fours across the Great Hall.

Mama Bear.

Students shrieked and gawked, pointing and cheering. Remus crowed “Bravo!” from the Head table, and Snape looked disgusted. Dumbledore stood once more and, with a fancy flourish of his wand, compelled the Patronus to return to Neville and disappear in misty vapours. 

Draco was grinning ear to ear. “Longbottom, that was pretty incredible. Well done.”

“Thanks, Malfoy,” Neville said. The school was buzzing his name in admiration. He felt his ears go red, and he sat down quickly. Seamus thumped him congratulatory on the back, and the members of Dumbledore’s Army all raised their glasses in the air with a cheer. Even when McGonagall took a hard twenty points from Gryffindor for flagrantly disrupting the dinner hour, the Houses still talked about how great it had been.

After dinner, Draco had retired to his room to work on the strange parchment again. He hadn’t looked at it last night, too exhausted from the day to bother. He took it out now, sitting on his bed, prodding it impatiently with his wand tip. It remained blank. He huffed, wondering why it only sometimes communicated. “I know the true names of half your company,” he said imperiously. “Messer Wormtail is Peter Pettigrew, and Messer Prongs is James Potter.” That got its attention. Splotches of ink spat across the page. Draco furrowed his brows. He wondered if they were squabbling over who would speak first, or if they were so indignant they were past words? Finally: _Messer Mooney can neither confirm nor deny. Messer Mooney insists you reveal your source, and why it offers merely half the names you seek._ Draco thought carefully if he wanted to reveal the truth, not wanting to give everything away, but also not seeing how the information could be more useful than at this moment. “Remus Lupin told me,” he said. Immediately: _Messer Mooney can give complete confidence that you lie. Remus Lupin would not name half and hold secret the other. Had he trusted you, all would be known. You Are A Thief._ “I am a thief. I believe that was known when I stole you from Potter’s trunk. I didn’t steal this information. Remus Lupin told me that James Potter was known as Prongs.” _Messer Padfoot puts his faith in Remus Lupin._ “What is your relationship to Lupin?” No answer. In frustration, Draco said, “Do you know James Potter is dead?” Manic ink splotches. Foaming across the page, Draco’s words were written in the Marauder’s curly cursive. They were stuck on the question. Draco swore. They had never written his own words out before. _Shit,_ he thought, giving the paper a shake, then trying to talk it back to normal. It either wouldn’t or couldn’t listen, his question left bold across its surface. _Goblin crotch,_ he swore. He folded it and returned it to its hiding spot, hoping that after time the boil would simmer and cool once more.

A knock at the door. Angry, he threw the door open with a snarled “What?” Crabbe stood awkwardly outside. “Sorry—come in,” Draco said, stepping aside for his friend. He closed the door behind Crabbe. 

“Uh, Pansy wanted me to see if you were still coming downstairs…?” Crabbe asked, uncertain to Draco’s mood. 

“Yeah, she said eight,” Draco agreed.

“It’s eight-twenty.”

Draco groaned. He felt like he hadn’t had a moment to breathe all day. How had the time become so late?

Crabbe glared at the rose hanging upside down over his desk. “You should take that down. It’s not good for you.”

Draco knew without looking what Vince was referring to. He sighed. “Not yet…I need it.” Draco suddenly felt very small.

“No you don’t.” Crabbe was trying his best to appear cheerful and encouraging. He saw the grief and exhaustion on his friend. “Can I give you some advice?” He moved closer, clapping his massive hand on Draco’s bony shoulder. Draco nodded. “Don’t fall in love.” Draco laughed, and the fingers squeezed him gently. “I’m serious. People like you can’t ever fall in love and have it end happily. Love will only bring you this.” He paused, and then, trying unsuccessfully to hide the disgust from his voice, added: “If you have to conquer men sexually, consider them disposable: use once then discard.” His voice grew gentle again. “Love just isn’t in the cards for people like you. Not if you want to keep your family.” Draco felt Crabbe’s words stab through him, the lump in his throat a cactus. He closed his eyes. “I’m worried about you. Why do people risk a broken heart? To find the person they can commit the rest of their lives to, to find someone they can call family. You can never have that with a man, so stop risking, alright? Concentrate on your future family. Concentrate on Pansy.” Draco looked up at Vince, saw the honesty in the man’s eyes. 

“Maybe,” he whispered, the defeat and compounded grief aching. Everything Vince said made sense. But the idea of giving up on romance, love, sex with passion and meaning… it was so much to lose. 

“Yes! Yes, that’s the first step, you recognize what you gotta do. We’ll all help,” Vince said, letting his arm slide across his shoulders in a quick hug. How long had it been since Vince had hugged him? Draco couldn’t remember.

He let his friend lead him upstairs, barely remembering to grab parchment and quill as he left.

“Finally! Where have you—” Pansy trailed off as she saw Draco’s eyes. “Hey…sit down,” she said. He sat next to her mutely. Crabbe quickly went to go find Goyle and tell him how he had converted Draco back to the natural laws. “What happened?” Pansy asked gently, stroking his hair back. He smiled at her. She was so good to him; he wished he could love her. 

“I’m just deep in my head today,” he said, quiet. She nodded; she understood not going into detail in the common room and did not take his reservations personally. She rolled out the top parchment in her lap, and reviewed the notes she took in History of Magic with Draco. Dumbledore may have suspended their regular schoolwork but Draco was determined to remain top of the class, even if he wasn’t there to do it.

A deep chuckling tore Draco out of his concentration. He knew that laugh too well. He looked up and saw Blaise leaning over some doe-eyed fifth year boy, tugging the boy’s tie until he was close enough to kiss. Draco felt like ice water had filled his lungs, ice crystallizing and sharp against the thin membranes, choking him and heavy in his chest. He felt his jaw drop slightly, knew better than to let his pain show but couldn’t seem to prevent it. Pansy looked up, saw Blaise snogging the living hell out of some boy, and put a hand on Draco’s thigh. 

“We’ve barely—how could he?” Draco whispered. Blaise opened his eyes while kissing, and looked directly at Draco. Draco closed his mouth quickly and tried to glare, but knew that his eyes were wet. Blaise closed his eyes to him and kissed the boy deeper.

“Let’s get out of here, go have a girls night, yeah?” Pansy said. Draco nodded. Jealousy, anger, and pain all collided within him, sending his blood running for cover. “I’m going to put these in my room,” she said, rolling her parchment again. “Grab some Firewhiskey, and meet you out front in just a minute.”

“Thanks, Pansy,” Draco said. She leaned forward and kissed him, a gentle quick kiss like they had given each other since they were five years old. She trotted downstairs, trying not to appear to be rushing but rushing all the same.

“I learned a neat little hex that will painlessly melt the flesh and muscle around their jaws away. It looks super gross and it’ll traumatize them for life. Wanna see?” Greg said quietly in Draco’s ear. Draco smiled. He was so engrossed with Blaise’s display—like a train wreck you can’t look away from—that he hadn’t heard Goyle approach him.

“Tempting,” he said. “But I can’t. Not publically.”

“Of course _you_ can’t,” Goyle said, aiming his wand at the pair. “And I’ll expect you to rightfully scold me for my insubordination.” He looked at Draco, waiting for confirmation. 

A tiny nod, barely perceptible, but Greg caught it right away. He hexed the pair, and their jaw skin slickened to jelly and splattered to their feet. They pulled away from each other just in time to see their muscles grey and rot, unravelling from their faces, leaving their jaws unsupported and slack, the crisp white bone cold and exposed. They screamed bloody murder, and Draco leapt to his feet to yell at Greg: “We do not attack our own! No matter how malicious their actions! Undo this at once!” Greg stalled by pretending to apologize to Draco for shaming their House, simply wanting to prolong the boy’s fear. Pansy came up the stairs seconds before Greg applied the counter-curse.

“Thanks for the nightmares, Greg,” she said. He grinned at her, pleased she approved.

“That was uncalled for!” Blaise howled at Draco.

“No, making out with someone directly in front of me fresh after our breakup was uncalled for. It was cheap and cruel.”

“Don’t you dare claim jealousy when you refused me!” Blaise yelled.

Draco felt his shoulders stiffen. He walked slowly towards his ex. “Do you think this stunt is a way to win me back?” he asked softly. “By seeing you with someone else, I’ll change my mind about everything I said?” The flicker of uncertainty in Blaise’s eyes gave him away. Draco laughed, a single staccato breath. “You really don’t know me very well, do you?” He turned back to Pansy and quietly took her hand, leading her out of the dungeons.

The two Slytherins walked the corridors in silence, for although not terribly late, they knew Mrs. Norris would love to chase them back to their dorms for walking so close to curfew. They made it without incident to the seventh floor of the castle, and paced the wall opposite the tapestry of trolls dancing ballet. A door appeared. Draco squeezed her hand, and let it go to open the door for her.

The Room of Requirement had transformed itself into a dark blue club. It had the appearance of being underwater, with its black floor and blue stretching towards the ceiling. Beads of light swam through the air, gently pulsating all around them. Fairie music played, which meant that they could not hear it. The otherworldly notes were unreachable to human ears, but played so loud that they could feel the vibrations strum the ground, shake the air, move their blood, competing with their hearts as their body’s drum. Dance music played at a conversational level, so you didn’t have to scream to be heard.

Pansy pulled her bottle of Firewhiskey out and the club filled with wizards—human props the room created for them. She sashayed to the bartender and gave him the bottle, instructing him to keep their drinks coming all night. She brought two glasses back to Draco, who appreciatively took one. 

Draco closed his eyes, instructing the room to alter their clothes to match the dancers. Pansy gasped when she felt her clothes morph, and grinned at the sparkling slashed number created for her. Draco wore a fine black mesh top and black ostrich leather jodhpurs, bronze buttons running down each calf. “Looking good,” Pansy said to him, reaching out to tossle his hair. “But you gotta run with Potter’s mussed-up look to make it perfect.” Draco suddenly wondered at the image he made, gulping the rest of his drink at the idea of Harry’s ass in these tight pants…

Pansy laughed, and true to her instruction a golden octopus swam the air towards them and refilled Draco’s glass, touching up the sip missing from Pansy’s while he was there before leaving again.

“Let’s dance,” Draco said. He grabbed her hand, pulling her to the dance floor. She giggled, a free laugh that only he could ever bring out of her.

They moved to the centre of the crowd, and Pansy realised she was the only female. _Smart room,_ she thought with a grin. Her and Draco began to dance, rolling their hips and shoulders, happy to dance together but watching the men around them. Favourite songs would come on, and they’d dance goofy and exaggerated, singing along drunkenly, and the octopus would refill their drinks past the point where he ought to have stopped. A revamped, modern version of a centuries-old song came up, and Pansy surprised Draco by taking the lead and attempting a faster-paced version of the traditional dance that accompanies the original. Draco laughed, trying to keep up with her and reverse the role he had learned. “Where did you learn the men’s role?” he asked, his face hurting from laughing so much. “My cousin Irene--” she said, palm-to-palm with Draco and spinning him. “—would insist on playing Ballroom every time she visited. But she always had to be the princess.” She pulled Draco close to her. “And since you’re the biggest queen I know…” Pansy said as they alternated quick steps circling each other. 

“Oh really?” Draco said, laughing with her. He leaned forward and kissed her. For the first moment, Pansy expected a kiss like any of the hundreds they had shared through the years—like one gives to family. But his mouth felt hot against hers, opened and pressed eagerly, inhaling her scent like it was the only air he had. She felt dizzy, from surprise, dance, and Firewhiskey. She realised they had stopped dancing, and that somewhere in her shock she had begun kissing him back.

She pulled away, his hands on her waist and her hands on his arms. “What was that?” She asked. She watched him, his gaze flicking from her eyes to her mouth. He griped her waist tighter. 

“I…I’m not sure,” he said.

Her eyes widened as the truth hit her. “Harry’s straight,” she said. 

“Yeahhh,” Draco groaned as if admitting something bad.

“You…” she hesitated. “You want me,” she said, letting herself press against him. She felt the tremor run through his entire body. 

Suddenly, the party atmosphere evaporated around them. They were back in their uniforms, the room shifting smaller. It became a bedroom, walls decoratively layered with three sets of white curtains pulled to create pattern. You couldn’t see an inch of actual wall. The bed was large, as white as a shark’s belly, with a lace runner across the foot of the bed. Two antique, white bedside tables with curled feet stood guard at each side of the bed, with shining silver candelabras proudly holding lit ivory taper candles.

Draco looked at the scene, and gently took a step back from Pansy, hands still holding her waist and firmly keeping her at a small distance from him. “I can’t,” he whispered hoarsely. But the room remained the same, knowing his desire. “Blaise and I broke up because I couldn’t…”

“Blaise looked at you and saw Harry,” Pansy said. She reached up and took his face, making him look at her. “Do you know what I see?” she whispered. “Desire. I see you behind those green eyes, and I see you yearn for me. Do you know how precious that is?” She let her hands slide down to his neck, one reaching back to entwine with his hair.

“If and when we’re married, we will do our duty to our families to produce children. But we both know it will be awful. You will be drugged, thinking of someone else, performing a chore you wish you didn’t have to do. And I am going to feel like a criminal forcing you.” She felt his hands on her waist relax as she stroked his hair, and slowly, gently, began to move closer to him again. “Don’t you see? Draco…I only want your desire. I don’t care about your body.” She felt his thumbs make tentative stroking motions up and down her sides. He was glancing at her mouth again, but didn’t move. “Give me my honeymoon,” she whispered. “Give me a memory where you’re you, not drugged and far away. An experience where we both want this. One beautiful, real night together…just one.” Neither could be sure who leaned in first, but soon they were kissing.

Time swirled as if it too had been drinking with them, stretching out and letting them enjoy seconds as minutes, minutes as hours. Draco moved to kiss her neck, amazed at how soft her skin was, licking the shell of her ear before biting her lobe. He suddenly pulled back, afraid. He had no idea if girls liked biting. He knew nothing about girls. Panic sharpened his already racing pulse. She’d be expecting someone who knew these things. “Pansy,” he gasped. She was kissing his neck, suckling the spot that curved from shoulder to neck. “I’ve never—that is…I missed the Preparation,” he stammered, ashamed. “I have no idea how to…I’ve never, with a girl.”

She pulled back gently to look him in the eyes. His admission surprised her—she had undergone her Preparation when she was fourteen. Most boys did when they were thirteen. How had he ‘missed’ his? Why hadn’t he ever told her before now? “It’s alright,” she reassured him. “We’ll figure it out together.” Her acceptance melted him, and he tried to show her how much it had meant. 

His kiss was deep, and he pulled her lower back to press her belly and hips flat against his. She arched into him, allowing her full body to mold to his advances. The press of her breasts against his chest was shockingly erotic. Stars pulsated behind his eyes as his tongue tickled the roof of her mouth, the taste of her mapping itself through his body. Her hands pulled the fabric of his dress shirt out of his pants. Once released, she ran her hands under his shirt up his back. His hand moved from her back to her elbow, petting up her arm and across her shoulder, cupping the side of her face. He slid his thumb beneath her chin and, breaking their kiss, he firmly but gently tilted her head back. She submitted, baring her neck to him. He kissed her throat, leaving a purple bruise to bloom after sucking a tender spot. 

She stepped back, locking her eyes to his as she raised the wool cardigan over her head. She let it drop to the ground, smoothing her hair self-consciously for any static. Draco smiled, also removing his sweater. She quickly stepped back in, her long fingers making short work of the buttons on his shirt. He again followed her lead, reaching to her and undoing the buttons of her own shirt, though his fingers fumbled from nerves and excitement while hers were clever and nimble.

She loosened his tie while he was still working on her buttons, letting the silk fall to the ground and spreading his shirt open. She ran fingers over ribs like she would piano keys. _How was a celebrity like Harry Potter so underweight?_ She shoved the miscreant thought away, not caring about the answer. She was here with Draco. 

Pansy’s tie joined Draco’s at their feet. He gently edged her shirt off her shoulders, and she let her arms drop so he could remove it entirely. He sucked in his breath, seeing her in her white bra. He kissed her, marvelling at this moment. It was so surreal, so powerful. His hands trembled as he traced her back, causing goosepimples to raise across her arms. His fingertips read her skin like braille, taking in every curve, every raised vertebra, a mole by her shoulder blade. She sighed softly into his mouth, the contrast of his gentle movements and his rough hands leaving her body humming. Draco reached her bra, and tried to feel for a button. While not finding any buttons, he did discover the fabric seemed to be folded over the opposite side of fabric. Snaps? Hooks? What held this thing on? He fiddled, trying to disguise his ignorance. She smiled against his mouth, knowing he was having trouble. She let him struggle a bit longer before she whispered, “Need some help with that?” 

Draco growled. “How do straight boys manage these blasted things?” She giggled at him, reaching back with one hand and popping it open in one motion. He couldn’t believe it. “…Tell me you used wandless magic to do that.” 

“Sorry love,” she said. She was suddenly nervous herself, and tried to look like a worldly temptress instead of a schoolgirl as she let her bra slide off her arms and to the floor. Her heart was pounding as Draco stared openly at her. Fear infected her desire. _He’s having second thoughts,_ she worried, not knowing why he was just staring at her and not moving.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered. Her fragility shattered over her, her heart overwhelmed with the rawness of joy. Shyly, he leaned forward to kiss her, careful not to let his bare chest touch hers. She moved slightly forward so her nipples would graze him, and he moaned into her mouth. His hands gripped her back and pulled her into him, one hand rubbing up her spine, the other trailing exploratory along the curve of her waist. Her waist was so tiny, and her hips flared enticingly, making the curve pronounced and utterly fascinating to him. Pansy reached down to squeeze his ass with both hands, pressing his groin into hers. She swelled and ached when she felt how hard he was, the length of him pushing against her almost painfully. 

Hesitant fingers moved from her waist towards her breasts, tracing around their curves questioningly. She moved her torso back from him, stretching her neck to continue kissing but giving his hands access to her breasts. He continued his infuriating tracing, still outlining her breasts and not reaching for them. She keened for him to stop teasing, chanting silently in her head for him to just touch her. Her knees nearly gave out when he finally did, a gasp falling from her lips as he squeezed her.

He felt her body dip, and picked her up. She barely weighed a thing, and his large hands securely held her knees and shoulders as he moved her to the bed and laid her down. She pushed his open shirt off his shoulders as he leaned over her. He kissed her nipples, amazed at how big they were compared to men’s. Her breasts were so soft. He cupped one and massagingly squeezed, alternating between watching how she moved in his hands and watching her eyes, her exposed enjoyment equally enthralling. He felt a tugging sensation in his navel stronger than any portkey, and he found his hips gently roll towards her. She cried out when he gripped her too tight, sitting up a tiny bit. “Sorry,” he said, alarmed. She smiled at him, and gripped his hair to drag him up for a kiss.

She flipped him to his back, kissing her way down his face and torso, licking and nipping as she went. She flicked the leather of his belt through its hoop, opening the buttons to his trousers. “Lift your hips,” she said. His mind, overcome with sensation and liquor, conjured memories of times Blaise had said the same thing to him. It stung, and made him smile at the same time. He complied, tucking the memories back someplace safe and away. She pulled his trousers and pants, drawing her hands down his legs as she dragged them off his body, catching socks and shoes as she went. He laid naked before her, watching her as if she were something otherworldly, goddess-like.

She crawled, predatory, towards his cock. She hadn’t thought any part of love-making could shock her, but there it was:

Circumcised. 

She paused, running hands over his thighs. She had been taught that some half-bloods and most muggleborn boys had muggle doctors remove the tips of their penis shortly after birth, but she had never expected to have to deal with it. It was always her assumption that any lovers she would take would be pure blood. Circumcision, she had been taught, was created during a time where men suffered getting sand caught in the foreskin. Wizards never had this problem, using magic to maintain health and cleanliness, and circumcision was considered mutilation among most pure bloods. 

She watched it, curious. It looked less like a man’s organ and more like a steel rod. She felt sorry for it, wanting to give it its little hat back. But it also, strangely, excited her. It simply looked harder, she decided. She wrapped her fingers around it, momentarily concerned—some of her taught techniques were all about how to work the foreskin. Recklessly, she abandoned the syllabus and leaned down to take him in her mouth instead.

Draco threw his head back as she mercilessly took his full length, her lips pressed tight against his base, the tip of his penis stroking the back of her throat. She hummed, knowing she had always excelled at this, proud and relieved she could excite him. She wanted to make him remember the time he enjoyed being with her through their long years of marriage. Her mouth slid up and down, her tongue sweeping around his tip on every stroke. One hand on his hip, she softly massaged his sack with the other, waiting for that telltale moment when he grew close. 

“Pansy,” he moaned. Her heart fluttered to hear him say her name so lustfully. Never had she felt so powerful. 

She skilfully brought him near the point of no return before releasing him, stretching her body across his for a kiss. He gripped her hair, his mouth demanding on hers, biting her lower lip and sucking it before pressing in for the kiss once more. He gently rolled her to one side, his hand petting her thigh. She spread her legs. He reached under her skirt, tracing strong hard lines up her thigh just to her bikini line before letting his fingers retreat back down her leg. After teasing her a bit, he reached for her zipper. Pansy shifted, helping the removal of her skirt and knickers. Draco took her shoes off, peeled her knee high socks down and caressed her calves. He firmly moved her legs apart, kneeling between them.

His hand moved to stroke her cunt, figuring that was a safe start. “Oh, gods, you’re so wet,” he murmured. She felt like olive oil over silk. She writhed and gasped under him as he stroked her with differing pressures, trying to figure out what tempo she responded to best. “Help me,” he said quietly. She looked at him, saw the uncertainty in his eyes. She reached her hand over his, bringing his fingers to her clitoris. She moaned appreciatively, arching her hips into his hand and pressing his fingers down. She showed him which way to rub her and then pulled her hand away. He had no idea what this little nub was, but it was fantastic, making her hips buck and her legs twitch. 

She closed her eyes tight, fistfuls of blanket in each hand. Draco grinned, still rubbing her, and leaned down to replace his hand with his mouth. His tongue stroked her and she cried out. Swiping his tongue lower and back, licking that spot and sucking hard, his mouth massaging around her. To his delight she started begging. “Oh gods, oh please,” she babbled. Her juice, her scent, were pressed and spread across his face, and it was driving him absolutely wild. He lowered his mouth to her entrance, probing it with his tongue, slickening her further with his saliva, and his cock throbbed. He slid a finger inside her. 

“Ohhh,” she sighed. “Please…I need you.”

“Be specific, love,” he teased, voice deep as he slid another finger inside her. She groaned, tilting her hips up. “What do you need?”

“I need…your cock,” she gasped. “Please, Draco. I need you to fill me.”

Draco brought himself up again, kissing her. Gripping his cock, he torturously moved himself to stroke its head against her cunt. “I can’t believe we’re doing this,” he panted.

“Me neither,” she said, also breathless. She smiled.

“Stop me if I hurt you,” he said, staring into her eyes.

“You won’t,” she whispered. 

He pushed himself in slowly, his mouth falling open. Draco hid his face next to hers, feeling a tremor pulse through him after sheathing himself wholly inside her body. “Oh, gods…” he whimpered. He thrust long and slow. “You’re perfect,” he murmured, kissing her neck. A tiny laugh fluttered out her throat. This was every dream she’d ever had, twisted and morphed into the strangeness of reality. Her pale legs slid up, hooking her ankles around his waist. She didn’t care. She didn’t care that she was fucking a body whose owner was not conscious to it, she didn’t care that this was the body of the arch enemy. Politics, both individual and within the framework of war, meant nothing. The only matters of importance were in saliva, sweat, and other fluids of arousal; in groans and rhythm and names cried. In that splendid, aching need in his eyes, tremulous and tender. 

“Pan,” he moaned, her name so thick in his mouth that he had to swallow it. “Pansy,” he tried again. “I’m so close…” 

She ran her hands over his back, pumping her hips harder with him. They kissed as his body surrendered, Draco’s climax taking both seed and breath from him. She stroked his hair, as she so often liked to do. After a long pause, he pulled out of her, hissing slightly and laying by her side.

“That…that was…wow,” Draco said intelligently. Pansy giggled. She felt his excitement deep within her and slip between her thighs, hot and sticky. She nuzzled against his chest, content. “Did you…?” he asked.

She looked up at him. She could so easily lie, and the openness in his eyes told her he’d believe her without question. “No,” she said. She couldn’t quite bring herself to deceive her best friend. He looked embarrassed and guilty. She tapped his nose with her finger. “That doesn’t mean I didn’t have an _excellent_ time, though.”

“Yeah, but…”

“Girls are built a little different. You may have noticed this,” she smirked. He smirked back. “We have lots of levels of enjoyment. Sometimes, having fun is the main pursuit.”

He couldn’t seem to quite wrap his mind around that. “Well…next time,” he promised.

“There can’t be a next time,” she said quietly.

“Why not?” 

She smiled sadly. She was scared to say it, the words far more exposing than what they had just done. “Because,” she said slowly. “If this became a pattern, and I saw you look at me like that more than once, I would fall in love with you.” He looked like she had slapped him. Her heart clamped fiercely against her fear. “And we both know that would be a disaster,” she joked, trying to ease him back.

He didn’t even smile. He looked at her with concern in his eyes. “You…think you could?” His head was swimming. She was his best friend. He could never fall in love with her. How did she see him, if she thought she could? 

She didn’t understand his question. Was this a test? Her heart skipped. “Yes,” she whispered. “Draco…I’ve had to stave it off for years. But I can’t if I think there’s a chance you could love me back. I will fall.” 

He looked away. What had he done? “I’m sorry,” he said. Pansy closed her eyes, feeling the words crumble through her. She had been so stupid.

Unless…

Her eyes snapped open. “Draco,” she started. “What if...” she hesitated. She knew this would make him angry. _Fuck it,_ she thought, and as gently as she could said: “What if the Switch is never found?” There was a moment of silence. Pansy waited, mind racing. He looked down at her, watching her. Her eyes…were hopeful.

“You don’t want it found,” he said. She said nothing. He jerked out of her embrace.

“Draco,” she tried to console him. 

“No,” he said. He barked a harsh laugh at her. “Do you really think my parents would accept this?! The Malfoy line would go through Potter!”

Pansy sat up, brushing her hair out of her face. “No, not necessarily,” she said quickly. “You and Potter could make an arrangement, trade seed, there must be some spell that could--”

“This is not my body,” he growled at her. 

“It might become your body!” she shouted back. She took a deep breath, reaching to put her hand on his shoulder. He pulled away from her, stepping off the bed. “I know you don’t want to hear it,” she said, wounded. “But this body could serve you better. Don’t you see? This could be our happily ever after.”

“And Potter?” Draco asked.

“Screw him,” Pansy said, angry that Draco seemed to be more willing to take the feelings of his nemesis into account than her own. “I would happily gut and filet that snake myself if it meant you and I could be together!”

“Don’t you dare say that,” Draco said, a cold fury whipping faster within him. “I would rather take my chances marrying Astoria than be betrothed to someone who would intentionally sabotage my cure!”

Pansy’s lip quivered. “You know I wouldn’t,” she said, her voice shaking. “I’m just saying…” she stopped. “I’m just saying that not finding it, could be okay.” Her voice broke at the end, but she refused to drop her gaze.

Draco broke eye contact. He had to get out of there. He started getting dressed as quickly as he could. “I can never be in love with you,” he said, his voice calm and firm. “I don’t see you that way, not even in this body. I’m sorry…I thought you knew that.” Finished dressing, he finally looked at her again. His heart ached to see her so hurt and still. He wanted to comfort her, but knew he could only make things worse. He never wanted a time-turner so badly in all his life.

He left.


	11. Dreams

The first few moments of waking felt like any other day…Until memory cramped and seized. Pansy hid her face deeper into her pillow. _Stupid, stupid, stupid…_ she kept berating herself. She forced herself to sit up, taking the capful of headache potion she had laid out before going to sleep. She couldn’t believe the myriad of mistakes she had made last night. _I didn’t even cast a contraceptive charm,_ she thought with a grimace, though she could forgive herself for that. Casting complicated magic at internal organs is not something to be done while intoxicated. 

She groaned, hiding her face in her hands. How had everything spiralled so quickly out of control? She knew Draco didn’t love her. She’d always known he didn’t see her that way, and before last night she had accepted it perfectly fine. Sure, she’d have dreams about what it would be like if he did, but every time those dreams would verge on pulling her heart too close she could give herself a stern lecture and that would be the end of it.

Until last night…

She stood up, slipping her nightgown off and getting dressed. Somehow, last night, she had convinced herself that there was a chance he really could love her. _Stupid._ Her ego couldn’t take his apology and let it go, oh no. She had to push her hope, had entirely freaked him out, and possibly done serious damage to their friendship.

She picked up her discarded tie from last night, and as she wrapped it around her neck realized it smelled like Draco. She took it off, her thumb rubbing the fabric. _He must have grabbed my tie in his rush._ She closed her eyes, sitting on the edge of her bed. She had to talk to him. She had to make sure he knew she wasn’t some crazed lovestruck girl who used sex with the intention of manipulating him into a relationship. The facts had gotten tangled, and it confused her. That was it. She griped the tie tighter, feeling humiliated, wounded, and angry at herself. 

She had no idea how she was supposed to talk to him about all this, but the bottom line was that he was her best friend. She would figure it out. 

_I’ll bring the tie with me to breakfast. It will force me to talk to him._ She tucked it into her school bag, and pulled a clean tie from a small drawer along her vanity mirror. It thread under her shirt collar and she tied it off evenly on the first attempt. She looked at her reflection, carefully casting charms to eliminate the bags under her eyes, and noticed the apple-blossom blush that still bruised her neck. A tiny smile tugged at her mouth. Her hair mostly covered it; she decided to leave it. It was a reminder that not all of last night had been disaster. They had truly shared something beautiful.

Until she fucked it all up.

She took a deep breath, looking at her gaze in the mirror, steeling herself. _I’m just going to talk to him. It’s going to be fine._

She stepped outside, locking the door behind her.

Except Draco didn’t show up for breakfast. Pansy told her dread to pipe down, reminded herself that he missed breakfast yesterday too, that this didn’t mean he was avoiding her. 

Draco laid in bed with the worst hangover he ever had. His mind kept staggering over the events from last night. He felt like he couldn’t face anyone. Not Blaise, not Harry, least of all Pansy. He pulled the covers tighter around him. 

When he and Pansy were thirteen and their parents began serious talks of betrothal, he remembered staying up all night to talk with her about it. She was adamant she would rather marry her best friend than a stranger, even after he fearfully told her he was gay. He told her that although he loved her in his own way, he would never be in love with her. She had smiled and stroked his hair, assured him that was alright. 

_So what the hell happened last night?_ No matter how hard he clutched at the rationalization that she knew he couldn’t love her that way, _she knew she knew she knew,_ he couldn’t escape self-blame. He was so angry with himself. He knew that sex would complicate things. But he let liquor and the moment sweep him away from practical thinking. He should have said something, anything, before it started. It could have been as simple as “this doesn’t change anything”, he should have said _something_. He gave her false hope. 

The look on her face when he left her last night…

He slammed a fist into his pillow. The violent move made the room spin, and he groaned helplessly and squeezed his eyes tighter. 

He had no idea how to apologize for the level of wrong. 

After breakfast, Crabbe and Goyle knocked on Draco’s door. Neither of them had seen Draco leave his room, and were uncertain if he had slept in or if he had somehow snuck out. When they got no response, Crabbe bravely opened the door, knowing his friend couldn’t lock it yet.

Draco laid sprawled on his bed, covers tangled around him. “Who dares enter the bedchamber of a dying man?” he mumbled half-heartedly. Goyle smirked.

“It’s us, Draco,” Crabbe said, walking to his bed. Goyle closed the door behind them and followed.

“Potter can’t handle his liquor,” Draco moaned. “That bastard,” he added fiercely, as if the entire night’s pains were Harry’s fault. “I’m dying.”

“You’re not dying,” Crabbe said. He tugged the covers away and Draco slapped his arm, yanking them back.

“Don’t,” Draco said, rolling to one side fitfully. “Everything is pain!”

“It will be, if you skip class because you got wasted,” Goyle said.

“Class?” Draco repeated, as if the word was foreign. 

“Yeah, class. Get moving,” Crabbe said. He tried again to reach for the blankets, successfully wrestling them out of Draco’s grip and pulling them away.

“I hate you!” Draco cried, burying his face in his pillow and curling up. “Greg, tell my mother I love her.”

“Death says he doesn’t want your faggot ass yet, and to get out of bed!” Crabbe said. Draco peeked out a look at Crabbe, who had the gall to be grinning at him. “C’mon buddy,” he said, taking Draco’s arm and pulling him upright. Draco groaned, his head flopping into his hands and his body reflexively curling in on itself. 

“I’m seriously going to vomit if you move me again,” Draco said, the room spinning. Crabbe looked uncertainly at Goyle. Goyle shrugged.

“Alright,” Crabbe said. Draco hated missing classwork of any kind; Crabbe wondered if Draco would later be pissed off that he didn’t ‘try harder’ to get him up, but wasn’t going to risk being vomited on. He helped Draco lay back down and Goyle got the blanket for him. 

“You’re wonderful,” Draco mumbled as Goyle tucked him in. 

“You remember that when you’re mad at us for letting you sleep through school,” Goyle said, echoing Crabbe’s thoughts. Crabbe and Goyle smirked at each other, leaving Draco to sleep.

But he couldn’t sleep.

He laid in bed for hours, stomach sea-sick with movement, the light too sharp and dry for his eyes. His head throbbed, and his muscles cramped. He wondered if this was Potter’s first night drinking, too. Fucking sheltered angel-prat. 

Self-loathing and guilt consumed him.

A knock at his door, and without waiting for a reply it creaked open. Blaise stood in the doorway. “Heard you weren’t well, I brought you a peace-offering.” He held up a potions vial. The kindness broke Draco just a little more, making him want to weep, making him want to bleed. He hid his face in the blanket.

Blaise figured if he wasn’t being screamed at to leave, then he was welcome. He came in, closing the door behind him, and sat on the edge of the bed. “Come on,” he encouraged. “You’ll start feeling better right away, and you’ll be human again in twenty minutes.” He uncorked the vial. Draco kept the blankets firmly in place. 

“Just let me die,” he mumbled miserably.

Blaise smiled. “Not a chance, diva.”

Draco’s head throbbed and his fingers tightened on the blankets. “Time is it?” he asked weakly.

“It’s lunch time.”

 _Fuck._ He groaned. “It’s too early.”

Blaise laughed. “Come on, sit up.” Draco sighed. He gently moved the blanket off his face, squinting his eyes open and sitting up the tiniest bit. “Here,” Blaise handed him the vial. Draco took it and drank. It was warm, spicy, and within seconds Draco found the light in his room bearable. “Potter’s grilled about half of Slytherin House asking after you.”

“Obsessed with me, that one is,” Draco dead-panned. 

“Can’t blame him.”

Draco’s chest constricted. “Blaise…” He looked away. He didn’t know what to say.

“I’m sorry,” Blaise said quietly. “For last night…for everything.”

“Me too,” Draco said. He still couldn’t look at his ex, knowing the tears would come if he did.

There was an awkward pause, the heaviness of goodbye. “I suppose I ought to let you recover,” Blaise said, standing. He looked away from Draco, and noticed the inverted rose over his desk. It made him uncomfortable. He left quickly, trying to escape the flower’s accusations.

Draco waited for the door to click shut behind him, and whispered, “Thank you.”

*

Ron and Ginny were still avoiding Harry, convinced he was being blinded and tricked by Malfoy--and angry that they might be wrong and Malfoy might genuinely get away with everything he ever did to them.

Harry sat with Hermione for lunch. Despite Hermione’s best efforts to take his mind off Draco, Harry kept stubbornly swinging back to the subject. “He’s either up to something, or something’s wrong,” Harry insisted. “I have to know what’s happening with him.” 

“Yes, but why?” Hermione asked. Harry had always been this way with Malfoy, but this was becoming intense even for him.

“Didn’t you hear me? He’s either _up to something_ , or _something’s wrong_.” Harry repeated, as if that were all the answer he could ever need. He pushed his barely touched plate away. “Plan A: interrogate Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy over there. I don’t know why I bothered asking his Quidditch mates earlier. Draco is too secretive to tell them shit. Plan B: if they don’t talk, I race over to Gryffindor and get the Map. If it tells me he’s in his dorm, then maybe he’s sick. If he’s anywhere else, I follow him and figure out what he’s doing.” 

Hermione sighed. She knew Harry wasn’t going to let this go. “Now that you have a plan in place, can you at least try to eat something?”

“Later,” Harry said, standing up, watching the Slytherin table as he left. Hermione stared down at her plate, feeling awkward sitting alone at a table of so many of her peers.

As Harry strode over to the Slytherin table, Goyle nudged Crabbe gently in the ribs to get his attention. “Wha?” Crabbe demanded, mouth full. Goyle nodded slightly in Harry’s direction. The boy turned his head to look, and was annoyed to see Draco in Gryffindor colours. He scowled. “What the hell do you want?” 

Harry pulled out the empty chair next to Pansy, Draco’s usual spot. He sat down, Crabbe and Goyle glaring from across the table at him. Pansy stiffened.

“Why wasn’t Malfoy at class this morning?” he asked. Crabbe looked annoyed, Goyle looked amused. Pansy…Harry couldn’t put his finger on it, but she looked anxious. He stared at her. 

“Piss off, Potter,” Crabbe said.

“Pansy?” Harry pressed. She quickly sipped her pumpkin juice, an excuse to not speak. As she tilted her head back, Harry noticed a hickey on her neck. He grinned. “Ahh, so who’s the guy?” She choked on her drink. 

Goyle aimed his wand bluntly at Harry. “Leave.”

Harry raised his hands in the air. “Hey, come on. I just want to know what’s happened to Malfoy.”

“Nothing’s ‘happened’, he’s fine,” Crabbe growled.

“He wouldn’t miss class if nothing happened,” Harry argued. “What are you hiding?”

A fifth year Slytherin piped up, “He’s on the Quidditch pitch.” Her friend retorted, “No he’s not, I saw him down by the Black Lake.” Suddenly the entire table lit up with different explanations, “He’s hunting the Switch”, “He’s in Snape’s office”, “He’s in the owlery”, “He’s in the trophy room”, “He’s in the library”, every Slytherin student competing to be the most believable. Harry scowled. He wasn’t going to learn anything.

Crabbe and Goyle looked triumphant. Pansy was blushing, but Harry assumed her face was red from choking up her drink. Harry rolled his eyes. “Fine, I’ll figure it out myself.” He left quickly for Gryffindor Tower to check the Marauder’s Map.

*

Draco showered and got dressed. He sat on his bed, staring off at nothing, wondering what he should do. Find Pansy? Go thank Blaise properly? Confess to Potter about his virginity? Go to class like nothing happened? He wasn’t any good at admitting fault. Self-blame he was brilliant at, but he felt absolute panic at admitting it out loud and apologizing. He didn’t expect forgiveness from himself, how did one go about asking it from others?

Sudden heat in his right pocket caught his attention. He reached in and pulled out the button Harry had given him. 

Harry was alerting him.

_He knows._

*

Draco’s dread exponentially increased when he saw Harry, furtively pacing in front of their classroom door, looking apoplectic with rage when he saw Draco approaching. Draco swallowed hard and walked towards him.

“You bastard,” Harry hissed. He jabbed a finger at Draco’s chest. “This whole time you’re leading me to think you’re my friend, and you do this behind my back?!”

“It just happened,” Draco said. 

“That’s bullshit,” Harry said. “Why’d you do it?”

Draco shook his head. “It felt so right in the moment…but it was a mistake.”

“‘Right in the moment’?! You asshole!” Harry yelled. He took a deep breath, and growled, “Give it back.”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “It’s not exactly a thing one can ‘give back’, Potter.”

“Oh, yes it is,” Harry said. “You are going to go back to wherever you stashed it, and put it in my hand right now.”

Draco got some very vivid imagery from this. He narrowed his eyes. “What are we talking about here?”

“The Map!” Harry said, then quickly narrowed his eyes in return. “Wait, what did you think we were talking about? What else have you done?!”

Draco took a second to realize he was talking about the parchment. “It’s a map?” He said faintly. 

“ _Yes,_ it’s a map. What else have you done? I want answers, Malfoy.”

Draco felt sick again. He still hadn’t decided about willingly confessing, but even if he had chosen to, he certainly wouldn’t have picked a time when Potter was white-hot with fury. “It’s not important…”

“Tell me.”

Draco sighed and grit his teeth. “Last night…uh…” He lowered his voice. “Last night, Pansy and I got really drunk, and we sort of…slepttogether.” 

Harry’s eyebrows raised. He thought back to Pansy’s strange behaviour, the hickey… his mouth strained upwards, a tight smile like an archer’s bow pulled back as the arrow takes aim. “You steal from me,” He started slowly, still smiling. “You make me believe in you,” the tension of his mouth hurt his face. “And on top of it all, you exploit my body the second you have the opportunity.” He laughed, a wounded sound. “I can’t believe it.”

“It’s not that big of a deal,” Draco said, trying to diffuse the situation.

“Maybe purebloods don’t think of their first time as something special, but most of us do,” he said. “You knew I did.”

“Yeah, and yesterday you said I could fool around with Blaise. You gave me permission to use your body.”

“To save your relationship! Not to go cruising for meaningless sex!”

“It wasn’t meaningless!” Draco yelled back.

“Oh, so you and Pansy are dating now?”

Draco felt his face go red. “You don’t have to be in a relationship for sex to have meaning.”

“Don’t,” Harry shot. “I don’t wanna hear it. Give me back my map, leave me alone for a few days.”

Draco felt a stone in his gut. He thought about the parchment getting stuck on his words last night. Panic fluttered up and down his chest. “Okay,” he said. “It’s in my dorm.”

“Fine,” Harry said. “Go.”

The entire way to the dungeons he begged the powers that be to return the parchment—the map—back to normal. His heart hammered as he entered his room and took out the book. He pulled the parchment out from its pages and unfolded it. _Do you know James Potter is dead?_ His words glared back at him from the thick paper. Draco’s hands fell to his sides, loosely holding the map in his right. He was screwed.

Harry saw Draco walking slowly towards him, holding the map innocuously at his side. He reached for it when Draco was close enough, but Draco pulled it back.

“You have to listen to me first,” Draco said.

“I don’t have to do shit, give it here,” Harry said, trying again to take it. Draco stepped back and held the parchment away.

“One minute of your time, then it’s yours,” Draco said. “No tricks.”

Harry huffed, folded his arms across his chest. “Talk.”

Draco was uncomfortable admitting vulnerability and ignorance, but he knew the only possible way to salvage this was to give the Gryffindor truth. “The morning we woke up like this. You know I was searching through your stuff? Well…This parchment told me a name. Wormtail. I thought the only reason you’d have something with his voice in it would be if it was a list of Death Eater traitors. I took it as insurance to protect my family.” He saw Harry’s face soften. “I’m sorry I didn’t return it when we started getting close. I just thought if I could figure out how to work it, that I’d have something to barter for my family’s safety, if the time ever came.”

Harry gave a small nod. “That makes sense,” he said quietly. “I’m still pissed, but I can understand that.”

“There’s one more thing,” Draco said quietly. He wished he didn’t have to say this part. “Remus called your father Prongs in class the other day. I tried to question the parchment, because it didn’t make sense to me. I…I don’t know what happened…” Miserably, he held it out for Harry.

Harry snatched it from him, opened it, and saw the words bleeding across the page. _Do you know James Potter is dead?_ His throat tightened and he swallowed past it. “How long has it stayed like this?”

“Since about eight last night,” Draco admitted.

Harry took out his wand. He glared at Draco, briefly considering if he should keep the code hidden from him. Impatience trumped secrecy, and Harry tapped his wand to the map, reciting, “I solemnly swear I am up to no good.” The words melted, raining down the page to scribble out the form of Hogwarts. Harry sighed in relief. Suddenly, the footprints that tracked everyone’s movements began to glow. Like a ping-pong machine, footprints lit up at random, flashing bright and dark again across the page. _James Potter,_ read the map. _Do you know?_ The last of the lights burnt out. _James Potter is dead._

“You fucking broke it,” Harry said.

“I’m sorry…” 

“You don’t understand,” Harry said, folding the map again. “This isn’t just an object. My dad made this when he was my age. He and his best friends, one of whom was my godfather, the other who is like family to me. They created this with parts of themselves woven into it. It’s the only thing I’ve ever owned that let me feel like I could talk to my dad.” He was shaking with anger. “If Remus can’t fix this, I will never forgive you.”

“I had no idea it was something so precious,” Draco said. “I swear, if I’d realized what it was…”

“But you knew it had something to do with my father, in the end. And you still didn’t give it back. You had to outsmart it, and instead you cocked it up.”

“I still thought it had something to do with Death Eaters! I didn’t know Wormtail was once a family friend.”

“Yeah, well, looks like there’s another thing my dad and I have in common. We both trusted the wrong people.” He glared at Draco and stormed into the Dynamics classroom.

Remus was startled to see Harry coming into class so early. “What’s wrong?” He asked, standing from his desk.

Harry held the map out to Remus, his hand shaking slightly. “Malfoy took it. He didn’t know what it was, and he told it…” His voice cracked. He shook the map at Remus, a silent demand that he look for himself. Remus took the map, and sucked a breath between his teeth when he saw the words it was stuck on.

“That’s not good,” he said quietly. “They weren’t meant to understand anything about that. Not about James or Sirius, not about Peter’s betrayal. Their world was meant to be insulated against it all.” He took out his wand. “I think I can reset it,” he said quietly. He tapped the parchment four times in an odd pattern, then set aside his wand and placed both hands on top. His hands sunk up to his wrist, and appeared as sketches on the parchment. Harry watched anxiously as the words “Do you know James Potter is dead” rolled up Remus’s skin, in such tight repetition as to nearly scale his flesh with letters. Long minutes passed, and Harry watched his friend, hope lighting his eyes like fear.

Remus pulled his hands up, his skin back to normal.

“Is it--”

“Shhh…” Remus said, closing his eyes. Harry fell silent. The man bowed his head, hands now on his desk, leaning over the map. A low chuckle grew into a booming laugh, and Remus fell back into his chair, tears down his face and griping his stomach as he laughed. “Oh, my friends,” he murmured, picking up the parchment adoringly. “I miss you every day.” _Two of you are dead, and the third is even more unreachable,_ he thought achingly. He stared at the paper with fondness, then held it up for Harry, his face still wet with tear tracks. “It’s fine, now,” he said. “And I’m glad it happened. It was nice, being with them again.”

“You mean, they’re real?” Harry asked.

“As real as I am,” he said. “Just limited.”

Harry held the parchment with new wonder. 

“Just limited…” Remus repeated, his brows furrowing. “Oh, my gods.”

“What?” Harry asked.

“Peter. When we were laying down the structure for how to cast the map…” Remus was deep in thought. “What did he call it…he was scared at first. When we described putting a part of ourselves into it, he called it…” He snapped his fingers and looked up at Harry. “A Horcrux.”

“What’s that?” Harry asked.

“It’s dark magic,” Remus said, growing more excited as he remembered. “Peter said it put a piece of your soul in an object. But you had to sacrifice a life to do it. We told him he was barmy if he thought that’s what we had planned.”

“But if the map isn’t your soul…how is it you?” Harry asked cautiously.

“It’s our innocence,” Remus explained. “Everyone sacrifices their childhood to some degree when they turn legal age. We knew this point in our lives, this bond we shared, was something special and would change throughout the years. We didn’t want it to change. So we preserved it, in the map.” He tapped the parchment in reference. “But what Peter was talking about…he said it could make you immortal. That’s why the price was so high. Harry, don’t you see? That could be what happened to you. The soul fragment, how Voldemort was able to rise again after we witnessed his body turn to ash. A Horcrux was created that night. And since Voldemort is still trying to kill you, I think it’s safe to assume he has another one, which is why he doesn’t realize you’re part of what kept him alive.” Remus was moving quickly, putting his wand in his jacket pocket and picking up his battered briefcase. “We have a name for it, Harry. This is incredible. I have to get to the library. Needless to say, don’t tell anyone except Mr. Malfoy about this.” He rushed to the door, calling out to Harry that class would be cancelled for the rest of the afternoon.

*

Draco was sulking as he walked towards the library. He was pissed that Potter had compared him to Wormtail. Wormtail! That cowardly, traitorous man was _nothing_ like him. Draco would never sacrifice loved ones to jockey for position. How could Harry think they were alike?

The staircase shuddered underneath him, and Draco gripped the railing with a Seeker’s reflexes to prevent himself from tripping down. _Just what I need,_ he grimaced to himself as the stairs swung around. He continued walking down, waiting at the foot of the stairs as they hovered over empty air until they pressed against their destination. Draco stepped onto the new platform, glancing around the corridor and quickly recognizing where he had been taken. He walked down the hallway, re-navigating his route to the library, as throngs of students wanting to get to class early passed him.

They nearly walked into each other.

Pansy.

They stopped, staring awkwardly. Draco felt his pulse fiercely fleeing, fearful of her rejection. She gave a tiny smile, a gamble. “Can we talk?” He blurted out.

“Um, I have class,” she said, brushing her hair behind her ear. She was caught off guard. Draco’s heart squeezed, and his blood felt thin. Taking a deep breath, she said, “But it’s just History of Magic. So…yeah. If you meant now. Then yeah.”

“Yeah, now is good,” Draco said, relief coursing through him. She gave that timid smile again. It made him want to hug her—he couldn’t remember a time in their lives when she had ever smiled at him like that. “Come on,” he said, “We can use Cabin Five.” It wasn’t really a cabin of course, but the classroom was built almost like a treefort inside, and the nickname was known school-wide.

They walked side by side in silence. Pansy was grateful for the passing students around them; their presence gave an excuse to not speak yet. When they reached the classroom door, Draco automatically held it open for her as he usually did. She stepped through, wondering how everything could superficially appear so normal and feel so awkward and alien. 

The room was no bigger than a broom closet, dark with a wooden ladder against the far wall and a sign that told them to remove their shoes. Draco started up the ladder first, as boys were always instructed so they couldn’t peek up skirts. Pansy followed.

They stepped into a wooden single room, with no chairs or tables. There was a circle painted crudely in the centre, and the windows around every wall were charmed to make them feel as if they were in the middle of a rainforest.

Draco sat cross legged along the circle. Pansy hesitated, not knowing where to sit, but decided to do as she normally would. She sat next to him—though perhaps not as close as she might otherwise have.

“Thanks,” Draco said quickly. “For meeting me.”

“Yeah, of course,” Pansy said. Silence rudely interrupted them. Neither knew what to say through its encompassing girth.

“I have your tie,” Pansy said, digging into her bag. She pulled it out and handed it to him.

“Oh,” he said clumsily. “I didn’t realize.” He took it from her, and she pulled back a little too quickly from his reach. “Pansy,” he said slowly, searching. “I’m sorry.” The words felt so terribly inadequate.

“Me too,” she said. “I swear, I wasn’t trying to manipulate you--”

“What? No! I knew that,” Draco said.

“I was just confused,” she added softly.

“That’s my fault,” he said. “I’m so, so sorry. I should have said something…I just… everything happened so quickly, I wasn’t thinking.”

“I know,” she said. “Me neither, really.”

They both smiled at each other, genuine smiles. “Are we okay?” Draco asked, sounding five years old again.

“We’re okay as long as we’re okay,” Pansy said, grinning. She reached over and hugged him. He gripped her tightly, the fear dissolving and leaving a film that exhausted him. 

“I was so scared I was going to lose you. You have no idea how much you mean to me,” he said into her shoulder.

“You’re my best friend. It’s going to take more than that to get rid of me,” she said. He gave a shaky laugh. “As my friend, I love you. Sometimes a little more, never any less.”

“Pansy…are you In Love with me?” He asked quietly, still hiding his face in her hair.

She rubbed his back thoughtfully. “Glimmers,” she said. “But mostly, you’re my best friend. And that’s the part that’s going to last for always.”

He squeezed her tighter. Pulling back, he looked into her eyes. “The bad from last night—let’s leave it here. Let’s exorcise it from recognition, let it die in this room. Only keep the good. There was good, right?”

“Yes, there was good,” she said, smiling softly. “I like your plan. But…” she brushed his hair back. “That means it needs a different ending. A goodbye kiss? Then last night is over.”

He smiled. “That’s a much better ending,” he said.

“Not here,” she said, and took his hand. They stood, and Pansy closed her eyes and said, “A moment of quiet to leave the bad behind.” They griped each other’s hands, each purging guilt and pain from that night. After a minute, Pansy squeezed his hand—a silent question. He squeezed back, and they descended the ladder. Standing in the darkness, they slipped their shoes back on. Pansy leaned forward, pressing Draco into the wall, kissing him with every inch of herself. He held her close to him, trying to put all his adoration into the kiss.

It was a long time before they pulled apart.

“Good night,” Pansy said quietly, and it sounded like goodbye. Draco smiled a little sadly. “Good night,” he said back. They stepped out from the darkened room into the bright light of day.

*

Harry had returned to Gryffindor tower. He sat on his bed, and asked the map questions. The Marauders joked and spun tall tales, and it didn’t matter to Harry that he couldn’t tell if they were telling the truth about their adventures together, it only mattered that they were sharing stories with him.

Gryffindor boys filed into the dorm, classes finally over and killing time before dinner. Dean pulled his sketchbook and charcoal, sweeping the black nub across the page as he lounged against the headboard of his bed. Neville and Seamus were debating something about Herbology. Ron threw his book bag down and flopped on his bed.

“Hey,” Harry said. Ron ignored him. Harry got up and sat on Ron’s bed. “You were right.” Ron sat up, looking at Harry for the first time. Harry shrugged. “Malfoy did something shitty behind my back. I’m pretty pissed at him.”

“What’d he do?!” Ron asked. He seemed happier than he’d been in days.

“He…” Harry glanced around the dorm to make sure no one else was paying attention to them. He whispered, “He slept with Pansy. As me.” 

Ron laughed. “Saw that one coming,” he said jovially. 

Harry bit his tongue, wanting to argue but didn’t. “He also stole the map and had it hidden this whole time.”

“Shit,” Ron said. He looked guilty. “I didn’t see…I still thought it was you, so I wasn’t really watching. Sorry, mate.”

“It’s not your fault. It’s Malfoy’s. He should have returned it when we started becoming friends.”

“Can you not use the ‘f’ word in relation to Malfoy?” Ron said.

Harry smirked. “I might not, after this.”

“Really?” Ron asked hopefully. Truth be told, that mildly concerned him. Harry wasn’t one to give up on people easily. _He must really be hurt,_ he thought. But he also knew Harry had always reacted mercurial with Malfoy. Ron certainly didn’t think this ‘friendship’ or whatever was healthy anyway, so if Harry was ready to give it up then it was for the best.

“I don’t know,” Harry said. “You gonna stop talking to me again? Cuz it’s really sucked not having my best friend around.”

“It’s sucked not talking to you too,” Ron said. “Look, I just think Malfoy’s bad news no matter what. So I’m in total support of you not being friends with him.”

“And if I forgive him?” Harry asked.

Ron grit his teeth. “Then you’re a moron.” He rolled his eyes. “But someone’s gotta have your back in case he turns on you again.”

“Thanks,” Harry said with a laugh.

“Yeah, well. Whatever. I’ll talk to Ginny,” he offered.

“That’d be great,” Harry said.

“But seriously mate. See what I mean about not trusting him?” Ron pressed.

“Maybe. I don’t know anymore. This whole thing blows.”

Ron nodded in agreement.

The door swung open and Hermione walked in. “Oi!” Seamus called. “We could have been changing, yeah? Knock first!”

“Sorry,” she said, shooting him a quick smile. She was surprised to see Harry on Ron’s bed. “Oh, please tell me you two have made up!” She moved quickly to Harry’s side. “I hate when you fight. It’s always over something incredibly stupid.”

Ron looked at Harry, who was looking at Ron. Ron shrugged. “Yeah, I suppose,” he said. They grinned at each other.

“Good,” Hermione said. “Harry, can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Yeah, sure thing,” he said without moving. Hermione glanced awkwardly at Ron. 

“Um, can we maybe step outside?” She said quietly.

“Okay,” Harry said. Both he and Ron got up. Hermione winced.

“Uhh…” She looked quickly between Ron and Harry. She gave Harry a significant look. “It’s about that _thing_ you wanted.”

Harry furrowed his brow in confusion, then he remembered. The potion to supress sexual desire. “Oh. Uh. Right. Hey, Ron, can we meet up in a sec?”

Ron froze. “You’re kidding, right?”

“It’s…complicated,” Harry said apologetically.

“And what, I’m too stupid to understand complicated?! C’mon!” 

“Ron, knock it off, you know that’s not it. This is just…private.”

“I see,” Ron said coldly. 

“We just sorted everything out, please don’t be that way.”

“Hey, you’re the one excluding me!”

“I’m not trying to exclude anyone!”

“Then fill me in,” Ron challenged. “What’s so private that you can tell Hermione, and not me?”

Harry looked at Hermione. She quickly avoided his eyes. This was his decision to make, she couldn’t vote in. Harry looked back at Ron. “It’s about Malfoy,” he said quietly. “Do you still want to know? And when I say that, I don’t mean as ammunition. I mean to keep secret and to respect.”

Ron grimaced. He looked physically pained as he considered.

“And that’s why I told Hermione and not you,” Harry said.

Ron sighed. “Fine fine fine,” he said quickly. “I won’t get Fred and George to make fireworks that spell it out in the air, alright?”

“I really mean it, I need to trust you,” Harry said.

“Didn’t that bloody prat betray you twice-over just today?! Why are you so protective of him still?”

“Wait, what’s he talking about?” Hermione asked Harry quietly. 

“Malfoy stole the map,” he said. “And last night he gave my virginity to Pansy-freaking-Parkinson.”

Hermione’s jaw dropped and she quickly covered her mouth with her hand. She giggled. “Oh, Harry, that’s kind of ironic…”

“Tell me about it,” Harry drawled. “Which is why I need to know the update on that thing you were working on. Because I sure as hell am not succumbing.”

“Have you decided to tell me yet?” Ron complained.

“Okay, not here,” Harry said, noticing Neville had begun listening. He stomach cramped in embarrassment. “Let’s go.”

Harry, Ron, and Hermione left the tower and snuck into an empty classroom. Hermione closed the door behind them.

“Alright,” Harry said nervously. “So the thing is…Malfoy’s gay.”

Ron’s eyes lit up. “How can you give me Christmas when I can’t share it with anyone?”

“Ron…” Harry said warningly.

“Are we talking full-fag, or just bi?” 

“Don’t use that word,” Harry said. “He’s gay. Full-stop.”

“But…he had sex with Pansy?” Ron asked.

“In my body, which likes girls,” Harry grit.

Ron smiled. “So…does that mean Pansy doesn’t know?”

“Pansy knows,” Harry said.

“Damnit,” Ron said. “I was compiling a really good argument for why I should be allowed to tell her.”

“You’re not telling anyone!” Harry said.

“I know, I know. Geez. I promised, didn’t I? But Harry—we would have killed for this information last year!”

Harry smiled. “Yeah, I know.”

“Okay, so...Hermione, what’s up?” Ron asked.

“Well, Harry asked me to look into a potion that suppresses sexual desire,” she said.

Ron looked back at Harry. “So, what mate—Draco’s liking girls, and you’re feeling fruity?”

Harry felt his face sting with the blush that crept up. “Ron!” Hermione scolded. 

“Hey, I’m not judging,” Ron said quickly. “Charlie’s gay.”

“He is?” Harry asked.

“Yeah. Not that I want you thinking about him late at night or anything.”

“Shut up,” Harry said.

“Hey, you’re not seeing me that way, are you mate?” Ron asked.

“No,” Harry said, angry.

“Just checking,” Ron said. 

“I don’t see Hermione that way, and I like girls. It’s the same bloody thing,” Harry said. “You’re my friend. Full-fucking-stop.”

Ron laughed. “Why are you so wound up about this?”

Harry stared at him. “What do you mean?”

Ron motioned to Hermione. “I mean you’re seriously asking about potions to stop it, you can’t handle simple questions. What’s your damage?”

Harry looked at Ron, and all he could hear was the Dursleys calling him freak. He swallowed hard. “I just don’t want –feelings—when I don’t know if they’re mine.”

“Interesting word choice,” Ron said gently. Hermione put a hand on Ron’s elbow, not wanting him to push Harry too far.

Harry looked away. He felt so twisted up. “I don’t seem to see people that way very often. Not like how every other teenager in Hogwarts seems to see people. I just, I don’t know, I might…I can’t figure it out in this body, so I may as well just pause the whole stupid thing until I’m back to normal.”

“I think that’s fair, Harry,” Hermione said.

“I think it’s stupid,” Ron said. Hermione kicked the back of his ankle. “Ow!” He glared at her. “Seriously mate,” he said, turning back to Harry. “Let’s say you’re straight. That means you have this super rare opportunity to temporarily get hot for blokes. That’s kind of awesome.”

“It’s not ‘awesome’, it’s embarrassing and confusing and it pisses me off.”

“Harry, you have twice the opportunity to get your rocks off. How is that not fantastic?” When Harry just glared at him, he continued. “Seriously mate, if someone told me I could have the chance to be attracted to teacups for a few months of my life, I’d be touring pottery shops and china shops every night.”

Harry grinned despite himself. “Except teacups don’t have emotions and expectations, and don’t turn around and tell the school how you like your tea.”

Ron laughed. “Yeah, alright. I get that.” He looked Harry in the eye. “Just don’t go hating on yourself, yeah? I don’t care if you’re gay, straight, or have a fetish for centaurs. Just be happy.”

His words soothed something inside of Harry, a balm against an unconscious pain. “Hermione,” he asked quietly, “What did you find?”

She reached into her cloak and pulled a small vial out. “Actually, I found the instructions the first day you asked,” she said. “It just took a while to steal some of the ingredients I needed.”

“I can’t thank you enough,” Harry said. “You didn’t get in trouble, right?”

“Of course not,” she grinned. She handed it to him. “The book said it won’t taste like anything, and you can take it right away.”

Harry uncorked it. “Well, cheers,” he said, toasting his friends before downing it quickly. Hermione beamed at him, and Ron shook his head but still smiled. 

Harry felt like he was listening to a sea shell, the strange ocean-echo throbbing loud in the room. He closed his eyes, vertigo sweeping through him. The vial shattered on the stone ground, having fallen through his loosened fingers.

“Harry?” Hermione asked. She seemed so distant, and she seemed like she was speaking right in his ear at the same time. He forced his eyes open to look at her, and immediately wished he hadn’t. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to ignore what he saw…

“Harry?” She reached out and touched his arm.

“Don’t,” he hissed, eyes closed, backing away and hitting a desk. He moaned.

“What’s going on?” Ron asked. “His eyes were green. Did you see his eyes flash green?”

“Yeah,” Hermione said. “Harry, I need you to look at me.”

“No,” he said quietly. “Can’t.”

“Harry, this is important,” Hermione stepped closer to him. “I need you to tell me what’s happening, and I need you to look at me.”

Harry felt his stomach roil, and hundreds of tiny razors barbing into his muscles. “It hurts,” he whispered.

“I don’t understand,” Hermione said nervously. “I swear, I did exactly what the book instructed, this shouldn’t be happening.”

“Maybe we should get Madam Pomfrey,” Ron said.

“Harry, can you look at me for a second?” Hermione said, leaning in to his face. “What else are you feeling?”

Harry took a deep breath. He opened his eyes, and they shone a sharp, acid green. “Lust,” he said ravenously. His fingers griped the edge of the desk behind him to keep himself from lunging towards her. Hermione quickly backed up.

“Ohh-kay, definitely backfiring,” Ron said, pulling out his wand. 

“Wait,” Hermione said. “Not Madam Pomfrey, call Slughorn. He’ll know how to reverse it.”

“Right,” Ron said, casting his Patronus. Harry was scanning Hermione, his eyes devouring every detail he never saw in her before. He shuddered, closing his eyes again. 

“It’s too hot in here,” he mewed.

“It’s okay, it’s alright, Professor Slughorn’s on his way,” Hermione soothed as Ron’s Jack Russell Terrier absorbed his message and the Patronus sprinted through the wall. “This doesn’t make any sense,” she said quietly to Ron. “I did everything by the book—”

“I know,” Ron reassured her. “He’ll be fine, he’s been through worse.” Ron looked at Harry, and saw him starting to undo the buttons to his shirt. “Harry,” he said sternly. “Don’t do that.”

“It’s too hot,” Harry repeated, his eyes still closed as he fumbled for his buttons. Having undone his shirt all the way, he reached for the button to his trousers. Ron shot a mild stinging hex at Harry’s hands. Harry automatically looked up at him, his eyes a bright, slick silver.

“…is that good or bad?” Ron asked Hermione. 

“I don’t know,” she whispered.

Harry stared at Ron. “Help me,” he said seductively.

“That’s what we’re doing, mate,” Ron said.

“No…I need you,” Harry breathed. He shuddered, closing his eyes tight and bowing his head. “Sorry,” he gasped. “Can’t…”

“Don’t worry, it’ll be over soon. Just hang in there,” Ron said. He kept his wand out, ready to stun his friend if he tried to move towards them. He leaned slightly towards Hermione and muttered, “This is gonna be one of those things that’s _really funny_ later on…” She swatted his arm, but gave a shaky laugh. She was so scared. What had she done to him? 

“Harry,” she said, trying to keep her voice calm. “We need you to tell us if things get worse or if anything changes, okay?”

Slowly, he raised his head and looked at her, his eyes feverish and green. He smiled, looking her up and down and licking his lips.

“Maybe you better just keep your eyes closed,” Ron said sharply. 

Harry’s eyes swung silver back to Ron. “I love it when you’re dominant,” he said.

Ron laughed uncomfortably. “I don’t know if it’s better or worse that he looks like this when all _this_ is happening,” he said. “I mean, on the one hand, at least I’m not scarred by images of my best friend saying this shit and looking at us like that. But on the other hand, it’s frickin’ Malfoy…”

“That’s it,” Hermione said excitedly. “It’s Malfoy. Ron, his eyes are silver when he’s lusting at a guy. Green when it’s for a girl. It’s the body/mind tension we’re seeing.”

“You wanna see tension?” Harry asked her, green boring through her clothes as his hips rolled suggestively.

“That’s enough,” Ron snapped. “Hold it together, mate.”

Harry’s shoulders tightened, like he was trying to close off everything in his body. He shut his eyes, his muscles screaming, the barbs digging deeper into him. He felt like the world was on fire. “So hot,” he whispered. His knuckles were white from griping the desk’s edge.

Hermione took her tie off, and cast a gentle Aguamenti at it. Water flowed from the tip of her wand and soaked the tie. Ending the charm, she carefully approached Harry. “This will cool you down,” she said, handing the wet tie to him. He didn’t move. She edged a little closer, saying, “Harry? Take this, it will help.”

In one swift move, Harry had grabbed her hips and flung her against the desks behind him, pinning her with his body. “Take this, it will help,” he repeated, grinding against her.

Ron shot, “Stupefy!” Harry’s body seized up and froze. Hermione ran into Ron’s arms. “You okay?” he asked, holding her tightly. She nodded, adrenaline making her feel shaky.

_Crack._

They turned, and saw Harry lean over the desk, panting. “How…?” Ron asked, holding his wand out again. Hermione stepped out of his arms and took her wand out too. 

“There’s no way you could’ve just done that,” Hermione said disbelieving.

“Forgot to mention,” Harry said quietly, turning towards them. “Malfoy and I are practically gods now. Our magic has no limits.” He flicked his left hand, and both their wands disappeared. 

“Ron…” Hermione whispered, taking a step back.

“I could do anything I want to you,” Harry whispered, his eyes brighter than ever and flicking between green and grey.

Ron was rapidly calculating moves and counter-moves, trying to come up with a plan. He stepped forward. “But what’s the fun in that?” he said, pitching his voice in a husky tone. Harry’s eyes turned to ash, and his lips curled like smoke.

“Ron, what are you doing?!” Hermione hissed.

Ron stalked closer to Harry. Harry stood still, intrigued. “You like when I’m dominant?” Ron said, trying to sound in control. 

“Oh, yes…” Harry whispered.

Ron nodded. “Sit,” he commanded.

Slowly, Harry sat on the desktop. Ron wanted to whoop, he was so thankful that worked. Instead, he purred, “Good boy.” He looked up at Hermione, “How long has it been since we messaged Slughorn?” Harry began to turn his face to look at Hermione, and Ron quickly grabbed his chin and forced his face back. “Nuh-uh, you only get to look at me.” He leaned closer. “Your eyes are only for me.” He waited for Harry to nod understanding. Harry was quivering with want. Ron stroked his hair, trying to keep his attention, and looked back at Hermione. “Seriously, how long?”

“Uhh…” she said intelligently, watching Ron interact with Harry. “Few minutes?” She said hoarsely.

“I don’t know how long I can keep this up,” he said, still petting his friend’s hair. “I hate to say this, but we have another Potions expert if Slughorn is taking too long.”

“Harry would kill us if we brought Snape here,” Hermione said.

“This is dangerous. If he turns on us, we can’t stop him.”

“I know…but…Ron, I can’t message him, he took both our wands.”

Ron smiled at her bravely. “Then run.”

She stared at him wide-eyed. “Ron…I can’t leave you here. This is all my fault…”

“Hermione, listen to me carefully,” Ron said. “You can’t be the one to stay. Harry would hurt you. I have things under control right now, but I can’t keep platonic seeming sexy for long. He’ll hit a boiling point, and we have to have a Potions expert in here before that happens. Are we going to wait for Slughorn, or are we doing to double our chances and have you run for Snape?”

“The more the merrier,” Harry murmured, seeming to only half-follow their conversation as he grabbed Ron by his tie and pulled him closer. 

Ron took Harry’s hands in his own and held them down to his sides. Still pinning his hands down, Ron leaned over to whisper in Harry’s ear, letting his lips touch him with every word: “You don’t get to move unless I want you to move.” He hesitated, but went with his gut, adding, “Bitch.” Harry moaned softly. Ron looked back up at Hermione. “Hurry.”

She ran.

Ron was so relieved. Harry couldn’t hurt her. But he was scared, running out of ideas to keep Harry docile. “Tell me what you want,” he growled. _Maybe if I can keep him talking…_

Harry smiled at him, and his eyes flickered to green briefly. Ron didn’t want to know what that meant. “I want you to hurt me,” he said breathily. “I want you to make me pleasure you. I want you to bind me, I want you to force me. I want you to fuck me.”

Ron realized this was a terrible idea. He didn’t want to hear any of this. “Okay, enough,” he said sharply. He took a deep breath, rattled. He started to undo his tie. “I’ll bind you,” he said, trying to make the words sound strong and sure. Harry’s eyes now shone like the night eyes of a cat. It scared him, how far gone his friend was. “Hands behind your back.” Harry obeyed. Ron moved behind him, and tied his wrists as tightly as possible. He knew he was cutting off circulation, but if Harry was going to attack… He pushed the thought away. He knew if Harry was going to attack, this would only slow him by a moment.

He stood in front of Harry and removed his friend’s tie, kneeling down to bind his ankles together. _I’ll take every moment I can slow him by._

“I need you,” Harry said.

Ron stood, staring down hard at him. He drew one finger down his friend’s chest. “You don’t call the shots. Do you?”

Harry whimpered.

“Do you?” Ron pressed, letting his finger fall down to his navel before pulling away.

“No,” Harry whispered.

“You’re mine. Bound, helpless.” Ron hoped the words could transform fantasy to reality. He wished he had his wand.

Harry squirmed in his restraints. “Please…” He quivered all over. “Please, please touch me again…everything is so hot, and you feel so good…”

Ron wondered if that was true, if human touch was helping him not suffer the heat he kept mentioning. He moved slowly behind Harry, shifting Harry’s shirt so he could put his hands on his bare shoulders. Harry leaned back into him.

“Tell me about the heat,” Ron said.

“I don’t know how I’m not burning,” Harry said quietly. “I need you.”

Ron tried to get Harry to answer more directly, but Harry couldn’t seem to concentrate on anything outside of lust. 

Suddenly, Harry snapped the silk ties off his wrists and ankles as easily as if they were elastic bands. He swivelled on the desk so he was facing Ron, gripped the back of his head and kissed him.

Inside his head, Ron was running in circles shrieking and flailing his arms. He kissed Harry back, trying to calm his panic and figure out how to assert authority when he had no actual power. If he lost control now…

He pulled back from Harry, and slapped him hard across the face. Harry looked up at him, panting slightly—that flash of green returning. “You ruined my tie,” Ron said. “Get on your knees.”

Harry melted to the ground, falling quickly on hands and knees.

“Beg my forgiveness,” Ron said. Harry griped Ron’s calf and kissed his foot and up his leg, babbling words that Ron wasn’t listening to. This was awkward as hell, but it was better than being raped and bloodied. Harry knelt up, reaching towards Ron’s belt. Ron smacked his hand and stepped back, saying, “You don’t deserve that.”

“Please,” Harry moaned.

“Get on the table,” Ron instructed. Harry scrambled to sit on the desk again, obedient. “Spread your legs.” Harry moved his legs apart, and Ron stood between them, rubbing each knee with his hands. “I’m going to tell you what you’re going to do,” Ron said slowly. “You’re going to return our wands. And I’m going to use mine to conjure terrible things to do to you.” Ron watched his friend struggle to concentrate. 

“I can’t,” Harry said, pressing his hips closer to Ron. Ron firmed his hold on Harry’s knees, shifting him back.

“You have to,” Ron said seductively. “Think of all the things I will do to you…” He leaned closer to Harry’s face. “Return my wand.” Harry arched forward to kiss him, but Ron pulled away before he could, his hands still on Harry’s knees. “Nuh-uh,” he said. “Do as I say.” He squeezed Harry’s knees. 

“Ron,” Harry cried. “Please…”

“Now,” Ron demanded. Harry squeezed his eyes, and Hermione and Ron’s wands clattered on the desktop. He panted, looking up at Ron, putting his hands overtop of Ron’s and moving them up his thighs.

Ron pulled back, quickly snatching both wands and sliding Hermione’s through his belt. “Good boy,” he said. “Stand and close your eyes.” When Harry complied, Ron said, “You will not move.” He shot a stinging hex at his friend’s back. Harry flinched and moaned. “I said, you will not move.” He circled around Harry, casting deep stings across his torso and down his legs, changing the intensity and rapidity while scolding Harry every time he couldn’t help flinching. Ron was finally starting to think that maybe things were safe, that maybe he could hold out…when he circled to face Harry and saw the tears down his friend’s face. He immediately lowered his wand. “Was that too much?” He asked. Harry looked up at him, eyes flashing between colours again, and when he leaned forward Ron let him kiss him this time. “It was perfect,” Harry moaned, pulling Ron flush against him. 

Ron felt like he was running out of options. He let Harry kiss him and grind against him, standing stock still and unsure how to proceed. He couldn’t keep hurting him…not if he was crying. But he couldn’t let Harry…

Harry groaned in frustration. He broke the kiss, staring intently at Ron with those cat-bright grey eyes. He was sweating badly, panting. “It’s too hot,” he keened desperately. “I need you…” Harry thrust his erection against Ron’s hip. “Touch me.” Ron shook his head no, and realized he was losing.

The door swung open, and Snape and Hermione rushed in.

“Thank God,” Ron said to the ceiling.

Snape walked straight up to them and ripped Ron out of Harry’s hold. He offered a tall, slender vial to Harry. “Drink.”

Harry smiled at Snape. “I don’t want to drink, I want to fuck,” he panted. In a mock-innocent voice, he added, “Can you help me?”

His face remaining perfectly neutral, Snape reached forward and griped Harry’s cock through his trousers. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” Ron screamed at him.

Harry’s eyes rolled in the back of his head. “Ohh…” 

Snape griped him painfully tight, demanding Harry’s attention. Harry’s head snapped up and he stared at Snape like his salvation.

“I don’t care if I’m giving you piss or the collected semen from the entire quidditch team,” Snape snarled. “You will take whatever I have to give you, and you will swallow. Every. Drop.”

“Yes,” Harry submitted, eyes flashing between green and silver again.

“Yes, what?” Snape asked, twisting his wrist slightly.

“Yes, sir,” Harry gasped. Snape released his hold and instead took his hair, forcing his head back violently. Harry let his mouth fall open, and Snape tipped the vial against the boy’s lips. When the vial was empty, Snape let go of Harry and took several steps back, watching him clinically.

“You can’t just do that!” Ron yelled again, utterly furious.

“And to what lengths did you go to in order to keep his cooperation?” Snape asked snidely.

Ron flushed. “You didn’t have to go that far! _I_ didn’t!”

“Yes, and his mind had nearly burned away.” Harry blinked several times, and his eyes returned to normal. “Welcome back,” Snape sneered. 

“Harry?” Hermione asked. 

“Yeah,” Harry grimaced. He dropped his face into his hands. “I’m so, so sorry,” he said. “I would have died if I had hurt either of you...”

“No harm no foul, mate,” Ron said. His words made Harry blush, and he forced himself to drop his hands and re-button his shirt.

“What happened?” Harry asked quietly, still not making eye contact with anyone.

“That particular potion was created to suppress sexual appetite within both the mind and the body,” Snape said. “To operate under a singular whole. You foolish girl,” he glared at Hermione. “Mr. Potter is split, two entities with two separate desires. The complexity of the potion reversed when it met this conflict. You nearly cost him his sanity.”

“Pretty sure you took care of that, _sir_ ,” Harry said. Ron snorted.

Snape had the audacity to smirk at him. Harry had never felt so enraged. “Fifty points from Gryffindor,” Snape said, turning towards Hermione, “For so critically endangering your friend.” Hermione looked like she might start crying at any moment. 

“Oh yeah?” Ron blustered. “How many points from Slytherin for molesting a student?!”

“You’re all lucky I didn’t hesitate,” Snape said. “Another minute longer, and he may have been irretrievable. If you dislike my methods, blame Miss Granger for causing the situation and for begging my assistance.” He turned on his heel and left.

“I’m sorry,” Hermione said, voice breaking. “I didn’t know…” 

“Hey,” Harry said, walking up to her. A part of him wanted to hug her, but he was too uncomfortable after everything that had happened. He reached over and squeezed her shoulder. “It’s not your fault,” he said firmly. “Don’t listen to Snape.”

Hermione adamantly shook her head. “I should have realised…” She clasped her hand over his.

Harry shrugged. “I didn’t realise either, and I’m the idiot living it.” They smiled at each other and she squeezed his hand tighter.

“Do you need healing at all?” Ron asked Harry, thinking of the sting welts he caused. Hermione looked alarmed, and her fingers around his hand tightened further.

“No,” Harry said. He still couldn’t quite look Ron in the eye. He dropped his hand from Hermione’s shoulder. “It’s fine. I could do with an Obliviate, but I'm fine.” Harry risked a quick glance at Ron, and was relieved to see his friend look relaxed. Harry's eyes dropped again, too ashamed to maintain eye contact. 

“One more awkward question,” Ron said. “You said your magic was limitless. Gonna need the whole story on that, mate.”

Harry was exhausted, and that question drained what little reserves he had left. “It’s not something I can use, so it wasn’t worth mentioning…” He said quietly.

“Except you did use it,” Ron countered. 

Harry’s breath caught. “Fuck,” he swore. “The stunning spell. I just broke out. Oh Jesus Christ, Malfoy’s gonna kill me.”

“How the hell is that your biggest worry out of the night?!” Ron said, exasperated.

Harry made himself hold Ron’s gaze. “It’s not my biggest worry,” he said. There was so much more he wanted to say. _Thank you. You did everything you could to let me keep as much dignity as possible. I’m terrified you’ll judge me after tonight. I’m so sorry for everything I did to you. Thank you for keeping Hermione safe._ But the words were so enormous that he couldn’t lift them. “But it’s definitely a worry. Every time we do something that’s outside normal limits, we erode our magic.”

Ron whistled. “Don’t tell him?” He suggested half-heartedly.

“I have to,” Harry said, staring at the ground.

Ron nodded. “First, tell him we slept together.”

Harry’s head shot up at Ron. “I’m _not_ telling him--”

“Oh come on! It would be hilarious!”

“You didn’t, though, right?” Hermione asked nervously, itching to ask about the ‘healing’ remark.

“No,” Harry said, meeting her eyes to make sure she knew he meant it before dropping them back to the ground.

“Imagine his horror,” Ron said. “It’s the perfect revenge for him shagging Pansy.”

Harry smiled sadly. It felt like days ago when he was angry about that. “I just destroyed some part of his magic. I have no claim to vengeance.”

“It’s Malfoy. You have an eternal claim to vengeance.”

Harry closed his eyes. “I’m too tired to know if you’re joking or serious. But can we please not argue?”

Ron’s heart ached. He could see Harry’s self-loathing, shame and repression, and he wanted to smack him for it. “No arguing. Check.”

Harry nodded. “I’m gonna just go to sleep early.” He looked back up at Hermione and gave her a little smile. “See you both in the morning?”

“Of course,” Hermione said, taking his hand and giving it a quick squeeze before letting go. She wanted to hug him, she wanted to ask him a million questions, she wanted to insist he come down to dinner and at least eat something when he hadn’t eaten all day…she wanted to mother him, but she could see he was barely keeping together and clearly wanted to be left alone.

Harry returned to Gryffindor tower, and was relieved that it was already empty. Everyone had left for dinner, which meant Harry could avoid the world just a little longer.

He changed into his pajamas and climbed into bed, cocooning in the blankets. He welcomed the dark, the still, the silent. As hidden and alone as he could be, he gave himself permission to feel everything that happened. It was crushing. The shame and fear were sour, acrid, staining and scratching inside him. 

He wept.

*

Ron and Hermione entered the Great Hall, sitting quietly with Ginny. Lavender tried to commandeer Ron’s attention, and he roughly rebuked her, sending her fleeing in a cascade of tears. He couldn’t handle her advances right now, and he needed to be with Hermione --who seemed to inexplicably leave whenever Lavender was around. 

Draco craned his neck to see the Gryffindor table better, and affirmed his suspicion that no, Harry had not come down with the rest of the Golden Trio. “Fuck stockings,” he muttered, tossing the crust of bread he’d been picking at to his plate. He looked up at the staff table, and for a brief moment hope flared in his chest. There was an empty seat. If Remus were also missing, perhaps the map was still in repair, maybe Harry was just helping—

Draco’s eyes snagged on the werewolf at the end of the Head Table. Irritated, he scanned it again and realised it was Slughorn who was missing. Great.

With Remus here and Harry not, the odds were that the map wasn’t fixable and Harry was too angry to come down and eat.

He excused himself from his friends and quickly left the table. There was something he had to do.

*

_Tap, tap, tap._

Harry felt completely wrung out, having only calmed down for a few minutes before the tapping began. He desperately didn’t want to move, didn’t want to have to deal with anything. But it sounded like some poor owl was stuck at the window. 

He unbridled himself from the blankets and trod to the window, only to see Draco on a broom. The sight shocked him. He had half a mind to simply close the heavy curtain, but he continued forward and unlatched the window, swinging it open carefully. 

“Hey,” Draco said softly. He searched Harry’s face, his own face, and realized the boy had been crying earlier. “Everyone’s down at dinner. I wanted to catch you alone.” 

“It’s a really bad time,” Harry said. He sat on the ledge, like he used to do with Hedwig in his First Year. “What do you want?”

“To reconcile,” Draco said. He griped the handle of his broom tighter. “What I did to your map was a terrible thing. The taking, the keeping, and the damage. And I’m so sorry,” he pressed his last words, wanting them to emboss into Harry’s judgement. 

Harry gave him a fragile smile. “Yeah, it sucked.” He saw the line of tension through Draco’s jaw, and wondered if it was that transparent to everyone or just something he recognized in himself. “Remus fixed it. You’re off the hook,” Harry said. 

Draco closed his eyes, the relief sharp and piercing. He opened them again, studying Harry. “If it’s fixed, what’s wrong? Why are you up here?”

Harry looked away, swallowed hard. He took a deep breath and looked Draco directly in the eyes. “Fine—I would have told you in the morning, but since you’re here…something happened tonight that you need to know about.” His voice was cut, a paper snowflake. “I got Hermione to brew something to suppress sexuality. Your body confuses me…” 

“Loads of straight blokes have said the same thing,” Draco said with a grin. 

Harry smiled back shyly. “I’m sure they have,” he drawled, trying to cover his discomfort. “But if we’re being completely honest, I have no idea what my orientation is. I might be straight, I might be bi. All I know is that your body is making the confusion worse, and I can’t figure it out properly until we’re switched back.”

Draco would have fallen off his broom if he didn’t have Harry’s gaze anchoring him. 

“I made her brew this for me,” Harry continued. “And it backfired.” His left hand griped his right arm above the elbow, trying to channel the pain at recounting into bruising himself instead of funnelling out his voice. “There was only lust, pain, heat…” he shook his head. “It was me, but everything about me was stripped away except for lust.” He shivered. “I couldn’t fight it. After the first moment, I didn’t even want to fight it. I was gone.”

Draco wanted to murder Hermione Granger. That stupid bitch read the potions book and not the book on theory. If she hadn’t been so certain of her own abilities, she would have read more and realized this wouldn’t work for those who have been split, whether they are in animagus form, or if they’re a werewolf, multiple personality or connected via speciality binding spells. The Switch would definitely be listed among the divided. “Are you alright?” Draco asked. 

Harry felt a smile stroke his face. He hadn’t expected that to be Draco’s first question. “Yeah,” he said. “But…something happened.”

“I have the right to Not Know about you banging Granger,” Draco said firmly. “Do not ever abuse that right.”

“I didn’t ‘bang’ anyone,” Harry said, a grin escaping.

“That’s absolutely right,” Draco said. “And that’s what we will always say and remember about this night.”

“I’m serious,” Harry said. “I honestly didn’t. Ron and Hermione--”

“Oh gods, the Weasel was there,” Draco groaned. “I don’t think I wanna hear any more.”

“The only part you need to hear is this,” Harry said quickly. “I attacked Hermione, and Ron cast the Stunning Spell at me.” His bare feet were freezing against the cold stone and the night air, and his arm hurt from his grip. “I broke out of its hold.”

It took Draco a moment to register what that meant. “You…?”

Harry’s vision blurred, the tears having reached too high without shedding. He let them drop, the weight of them streaking fast down his face. One ran to the corner of his mouth. “I’m sorry,” he said.

Draco flew closer, so his hip touched the stone. He put a hand on one of Harry’s drawn up knees. “It wasn’t you,” he said. “It’s just like Imperious. You had no control.”

A sob broke out of Harry’s throat, and he held his breath trying to keep the rest back. He shook. 

“It’s okay,” Draco said. He leaned forward and put his arm around Harry, one hand on his broom. Harry was rigid as stone, trying so hard not to fall apart, but at this strange embrace by ‘himself’ he felt shattered. He let himself curl into Draco, trusting Draco with everything from his vulnerability to simply not letting him fall. “It’s okay,” Draco repeated, holding Harry tightly. “It was a small spell to break, and you did it only once. The damage is going to be minimal. There probably exists a way to break out of it nonverbally anyway, so there may not even be damage.” He rested his cheek on top of Harry’s head. “You’re okay,” he whispered. “Everything’s okay. We’ll get Lupin to check in the morning just to be aware, and whatever the answer is it’s okay. It’s not your fault.” Draco kept up the flow of reassurance until Harry finally stilled against him. “You better not fall asleep like this,” he chided, carefully wrestling the wind to stay even with the window ledge.

Harry laughed, and pulled away. He was amazed that the boy could bypass the layers of self-castigation and reach Harry, even when he felt lost to himself. He couldn’t believe he had nearly given up on this. He looked into the Slytherin’s eyes, and despite their colour, could see him clearly. “Thank you…Draco.”

Draco’s eyes widened. Their surnames had been the sentinels of their enmity. He smiled, his lips holding something cherished as he said, “You’re welcome, Harry.”

That night, Harry slept deeply. It was one of the rare times when Harry knew he was dreaming. He was in his own body, sitting across from Draco in one of the self-directed rowboats that carry First Years across the Black Lake to Hogwarts. It was the middle of the night, and the stars were unusually large and bright. 

“There’s no moon,” Harry said, searching.

“You’re looking in the wrong place,” Draco said softly, letting his fingers trail into the lake. A strange, eerie music crept through the air, almost flute-like. Haunting. Harry looked over the edge of the boat and saw Draco’s long pale fingers playing the ripples of the water like a harp.

“What do you mean?” He asked, enchanted by the music.

Draco smiled. “You’re looking for what you expect to find. There is no right place for that. You won’t see what’s there until you’re ready to let yourself.”

“I am,” Harry said.

“Then look again,” Draco said, flicking the lake water into Harry’s eyes. It stung. Harry squeezed his eyes shut, wanting to scrub away the burn, but held still. The part of him that knew he was dreaming wondered why he didn’t have his glasses, but he knew if he focused too hard on the question that he’d wake up and he didn’t want that. He blinked, staring into Draco’s grey eyes. They shone like mercury, and he felt himself pulled like the tide. He leaned in, pulse rushing and louder than the lapping water around them. Only a breath away, Harry parted his lips, eyes closing, as Draco tilted his face to accept the waves. 

The rowboat’s seats were inexplicably gone. Both boys laid on their sides, the scent of the wood, the rhythmic rocking of the water, and the night thick upon them. They kissed deeply, Harry feeling something pull and leaving while at the same time something fill his broken pieces. He ran his hand up Draco’s back, their legs tangling against each other, as Draco’s hand pulled Harry’s hips against him. The press and release of their bodies moving against each other sent currents of exhilaration rushing and pooling in his groin, aching to reach shore…

Harry woke up, heart pounding and semen coating his pajama pants. 

_Fuck._


	12. Horcrux

_Fuck._

Harry laid still, eyes closed, willing his heart to calm. That had been the single most intense dream he had ever experienced. _What does it mean that it was with Malfoy—with Draco?_ Harry smiled reflexively, the taste of his first name something his mouth wasn’t supposed to know. An apple. 

At this line of thought, Harry gave a quiet laugh. After all, Eve had been a parselmouth just like him.

The sound of his own laugh jarred him. Being in Draco’s body was disorienting after having so vividly dreamt he was himself again. 

He thought back to the dream, trying to pull its details within reach of memory. The raw emotional power was something he had attributed to nightmares only—this had been beautiful, connective and strengthening. He focused on this as a swollen dread in his belly recited: _Cho Chang…Ginny Weasley…Draco Malfoy._

Ron was going to kill him.

Without magic to spell away the mess, Harry carefully got up, grabbed a new set of pajamas, and slipped into the bathroom. He stripped down and began to wash away the semen. It was humbling, not having a laundry machine or magic to clean for him. But he sure as hell wasn’t going to leave it for the house elves to handle. 

* *

Harry had been trying all morning to be normal with his friends. His actions from last night still horrified him, fear and humiliation coiling tightly and making his skin feel too small for his body…but it was either suck it up and try to be normal, or bear their pity and their squeezed forgiveness. 

He sat at breakfast across from Hermione, and much to his discomfort next to Ron. He felt like all his edges had been sharpened and on high alert. He clamped down on his anxiety, acidly scolding himself to calm down. Ginny, who sat next to Hermione, had said something funny that he missed entirely, but since the three of them were laughing he smiled along. _Fake it till you make it._

Ron leaned over to whisper a comment to Harry, and Harry jerked away. “Don’t,” he said before he could stop himself. Ron snorted--irritation, a streak of embarrassment, and lots of amusement. 

“What, I can’t _whisper_ to you now?” Ron joked.

“Leave it, yeah?” Harry said. He glanced quickly at Ginny, and felt sick to see that she seemed to know what was going on. _They must have told her after dinner last night._

“Don’t be such an idiot,” Ron said affectionately. “Sometimes I’m going to whisper to you. Get it together, mate.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” Harry said. “It’s just weird right now. You doing that makes me think of…” The memory from last night crashed through him, the dilated lust altering his perception of anyone near him…Ron’s mouth against his ear… He shivered and shoved the memory as far as he could. He was disgusted with himself. 

Ron knew exactly what he was thinking, but he didn’t understand why Harry was so affected. Hadn’t they already done the apology-forgiveness bit? It hadn’t meant anything, so it meant nothing. “So?”

“So,” Harry said, disbelieving Ron’s ignorance, “I don’t want you doing things that make me think about any of that.”

Ron looked to the girls for help, but they remained quiet. He looked back at Harry. “Why? It’s over,” Ron said lightly. “It doesn’t matter.”

Harry raised his eyebrows. He was stunned and angry.

“Ron,” Hermione said gently. “Having a memory that has been…tampered with…a memory that includes thoughts and feelings that aren’t yours…that’s a difficult thing to process. And if Harry is trying to keep distance from those memories, then I think we should respect that.”

“Thank you,” Harry said to Hermione. 

Ron rolled his eyes. “So hang on,” he said, quickly trying to add together the pieces he was getting. “Some part of you still sees us…?”

Harry glared defiantly at him. “I have never been interested in either of you. Ever. Not a stray thought, not a weird dream, nothing.” He forced his face to remain neutral at the mention of weird dreams, the faint scent of wood and lake water taunting him. “I don’t see you that way. But last night, I would have seen Filch that way if he had been near. So yeah. Those memories are weird. I don’t want you bringing them up.”

A smile quirked the edge of Ron’s mouth. “So, even Snape?”

Harry had not been brave enough to look at the head table all morning. “Yeah, even Snape,” Harry said between clenched teeth. 

“I just want it on record,” Ginny said, “That I’m severely pissed that Ron got to kiss Harry before I did.”   
Hermione choked on her pumpkin juice laughing. Ron raised a glass to his sister, with a self-mocking grin on his face. Harry felt the blush creep high in his cheeks.

“So sorry, Gin,” Ron said. “Guess it’s time for you to move on.”

“Nice try,” Ginny said. “This just means now Harry owes me one.”

“No he doesn’t!” Ron said, starting to lose the humour of the situation. “Harry said he’s not interested in any of us.”

“He said any of _you_ ,” she clarified. “He meant the people involved in last night.”

“Let’s settle this once and for all,” Ron said. “Harry, mate, tell my sister here that her joking flirtation has lost its hilarity and that you’re just not interested.”

“I’m gonna go see how Luna’s doing…” Harry said, quickly leaving the table. Hermione grinned, and discreetly nudged Ginny in a see I told you so gesture. Ron laughed, thinking: _Good ole Harry, can’t bear to hurt her feelings even when he’s asked to._

Harry thread his way between benches until he got to Luna, who had plenty of space on either side of her at the Ravenclaw table. “Hey Luna,” he said, sitting next to her. “Do you mind if I sit here? I much prefer your insanity to Ron’s insanity,” he joked glibly. 

She looked up at him, her eyes bright. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me, Harry.” In ten words, Luna had reminded him why he didn’t come sit with her more often: her inherent knack at making him uncomfortable. He felt rude when he had meant to be teasing, and didn’t know how to apologize. “Do you know what you’re going to dress as for Halloween?” She asked in that other-worldly voice she had.

“Er, no, I don’t really do Halloween,” Harry said. 

“You could always go as yourself,” Luna suggested.

“Yeah, that’s the plan.”

“No; I mean you could always go as _yourself_ ,” Luna repeated. “Draw a fake scar on your head, charm your hair black, get a pair of glasses, and wear Slytherin robes.”

Harry laughed. “Slytherin robes, that’s not me.”

“It is now,” she intoned.

“What are you dressing as?” He asked her, wanting the focus away from him.

Her eyes flickered, something sad. She said quietly, “My mother loved Halloween.”

Harry remembered the first time he met Luna, how she could see the thestrals because she had seen her mother die. “I’m sorry,” he said.

She smiled bravely. “I’m sure it’s worse for you. Your parents died that night, didn’t they?” Harry nodded. He hadn’t really associated the date to their death before, since the Dursleys had fed him lies about a winter car crash all his life. “I’m going to be Amaterasu,” she said.

“Who?” Harry asked.

“She’s the Japanese sun goddess. I love how they have a sun goddess and a moon god. Entirely antithetical to western esoteric thought. It’s healthy to spin your assumptions.”

They talked about her costume details and philosophy for the remainder of breakfast, and Harry was glad he had sat with her.

Harry finally made himself look up at the head table, thinking it would be better to get his first look at Snape before having to interact with the man again. Snape was arguing quietly with Professor Sprout, but seemed genuinely interested in her responses. Harry was surprised. Movement catching his eye, he noticed Madam Pomfrey walk up to Dumbledore and whisper in his ear. The entire staff table stopped what they were doing and watched, trying to eavesdrop if they were close enough. 

Harry nudged Luna. “Do you know what’s going on?”

Luna looked up. “Hopefully Madam Pomfrey is alerting the Headmaster about the Lengeloo infestation. They’ve dusted every blade of grass by the Black Lake. You can’t walk there without committing genocide.” 

Madam Pomfrey left the Great Hall. With a sigh, Dumbledore stood and held his hands in front of him. “If I may,” his voice boomed, and everyone turned to look at him. “I have an announcement to make. Due to an unforeseen medical situation, Professor Slughorn has been incapacitated. All Potions classes are suspended today and tomorrow, and we expect he shall be recovered for Monday.”

There were cheers among the crass who were thrilled to have free periods, questions among the concerned, and a grumbling among jealous seventh years who weren’t taking Potions but would have been so grateful for an extra period to catch up on their work. Harry was watching the head table: all the professors had their heads bowed as if in prayer. What happened to Professor Slughorn?

The food and drink across the tables disappeared, signaling students to make their way to their classes. Harry said goodbye to Luna, and maneuvered out of the throng of eager Ravenclaws who rushed for prime class seats. He walked casually alone down the hall, headed directly towards the Dynamics room, when he felt someone fall in step next to him. He looked to his left and saw Draco smiling at him.

“Hullo, Harry,” he said, voice somehow teasing and gentle. 

Harry smiled back. “Aren’t you going to get in trouble for being on a first-name-basis with me in public?”

Draco winked. “Just us and a few Hufflepuff pods here. And everybody knows a Hufflepuff won’t spread rumors.”

“Oh?” Harry asked.

“Their fairness is crippling to their potential for advancement. They’ll never sell someone out over a rumor. It serves me well, so I approve.”

“Wow,” Harry laughed. “Only you could spin integrity into sounding like a fault.”

“Why thank you,” Draco said. Harry grinned and rolled his eyes. “So what had you spending the morning with Ravenclaw?”

“Watching me, were you?” Harry taunted. He felt a nervous rush at his own boldness.

Draco smirked gamely. “A fifth year started cooing about how pretty Luna and I looked together with our unusual hair colouring. Pansy hexed her for me. But sure enough, there you were, fraternizing with Looney Lovegood…”

“Don’t call her that,” Harry said. The people who loved her could tease her, but coming from Draco it was bullying. They turned at the suit of armour and walked among a smattering of Gryffindors and Slytherins slogging towards class. Some of the Slytherins glared at Harry as he passed, but nobody cared that he and Draco walked together. It was common knowledge they were in a class of two, and therefore spent time together.

“Stop evading the question,” Draco said.

Harry shrugged. “It was no big deal. Ron was being a prat--”

“Redundant.”

Harry glared at Draco. “Okay, that’s twice in under a minute you’ve insulted my friends. You don’t see me ripping on Crabbe and Goyle.”

“You want me to be nice to Weasley?!” 

“Yeah,” Harry said confrontationally. 

“I’m sorry, that’s like….friendship third base. You’re going way too fast for me. I’m just not that kind of girl.” Draco fluttered his eyelashes at Harry who couldn’t help but laugh.  
“No no, being nice to his face is friendship third base,” Harry argued. “Simply not insulting him in front of me is entirely within your ability at this stage.” 

“If being nice to his face is friendship third base,” Draco began, “Then not insulting him is the equivalent to wearing lingerie. It’s teasing the assumed pleasantness to come. Meanwhile, we’re still at the friendship batting plate in the gee-golly-gosh-he-held-my-hand stage.” Harry made a face at him, and misunderstanding it Draco said, “Fine, the she-held-my-hand stage. Delicate heteros and your need for affirmation…”

“It’s not—I don’t care what pronoun you’re using,” Harry said. “I just need you to not talk about my body in lingerie!”

Draco laughed, and opened the classroom door for Harry automatically. The move surprised them both. Harry gave a shy smile and walked through.

Dumbledore was waiting for them. Remus stood rigid at his side.

Draco closed the door and straightened his back, tilting his face up slightly so he could look down into the man’s eyes like his father taught him. He couldn’t manage the same effect in Harry’s body, which was shorter than his own by an inch. 

“Good morning,” Dumbledore said, acutely aware that all three wizards seemed tense around him. It made him suspicious. He smiled warmly at Harry, searching the boy’s unfamiliar grey eyes. Harry smiled back, but it was by command rather than by reaction. After Dumbledore had explicitly promised to tell him everything at the end of last year, he had still kept something so impossibly huge a secret. All three of them knew they couldn’t completely trust Albus Dumbledore. 

Dumbledore could feel the three wizards on guard, and snuffed his paranoia. They knew nothing, so it had to be something significantly less important than his fears. Remus was likely anxious about Horace, Mr. Malfoy was mercurial by nature...He simply had to determine the source of Harry’s unease. “I rather felt I should meet with you both after this morning’s announcement,” Dumbledore continued, observing Harry carefully. “I believe you deserve to understand the scope of what has happened to Professor Slughorn. Shall we sit?” He motioned towards the seats.

“If you insist, sir,” Draco said stiffly. Harry wished he could reach out to Draco—squeeze his shoulder, touch his hand, anything. He could see the anger and tension boiling in him and wanted to conduct some of the pressure away. He didn’t dare. Instead, he walked over to his seat and Draco sat next to him. Dumbledore carefully noted every lingering look and every move they made, and realized suddenly how close Harry had stood to Mr. Malfoy, how the boys sat beside each other, how they had walked to class together. Could the tension be something so simple as eros? The twinkle sparked in his eyes as he thought how clever he was. Remus levitated the chair from the professor’s desk towards their group, and offered it to Albus.

“Thank you, my dear boy,” Dumbledore said, taking a seat. “The student seats are frightfully unkind to someone my age.” 

Remus transfigured his briefcase into a stool and sat down. 

“Professor Slughorn, along with Madam Hooch, volunteered to search the Forbidden Forest for the Switch last night,” Dumbledore explained gently. “As she explained the event, she heard the professor call out that he ‘found it’. She turned and saw a flash of movement on the ground, which must have been the Switch…and then she watched Horace run head-long into a baby thestral. Having never seen death, Horace could not see the thestral.” 

Draco snickered. 

“Yes, I can see how one might envision great physical comedy in such a moment,” Dumbledore said. “I myself enjoy the works of the Clumsy Contortionist. Slapstick can be quite amusing. However, it is important to keep in mind that Professor Slughorn has been hospitalized from this encounter. In fact, his very life was in danger.” Draco lowered his eyes, embarrassed from his own response.

“Do you know why you cannot see thestrals unless you have seen death?” Remus asked the boys. They shook their heads. “Thestrals are such inherently powerful warriors, that they evolved to be invisible to innocents. They seek honourable battle, and those who do not know death can’t give them satisfaction.”

“Even a foal is capable of killing,” Dumbledore added. “They are the steeds of death itself.”

“Which is why those who can see them, see their bones,” Remus said darkly.

“We are lucky in Rolanda’s misfortune, that she could see the thestral and understood exactly what happened,” Dumbledore said. “The foal was terrified of Horace’s ‘attack’, and as they both tumbled to the ground the foal whipped around and sank its dragonlike teeth into his neck. Madam Hooch ran towards the thestral, screaming a battle-cry and waving her broom at it. Outnumbered, afraid, and so very young, the foal released Horace and retreated. Had she shown fear, it would have killed Professor Slughorn and attacked her next.”

Harry was sick with guilt. First Hagrid was injured. Now Slughorn nearly died… his stomach twisted. How could he keep gambling the lives of others?

“The Switch escaped, then,” Draco said. Harry glared at him. How could he focus on that?

“I’m afraid so,” Dumbledore answered.

Draco pursed his lips, disappointed. “Well, at least we know it’s still alive. And we have a line of territory between the two points where it’s been witnessed.” Remus smiled. He was starting to like Mr. Malfoy. “Sir,” Draco said, furrowing his brow as he thought. “If it was just a bite, why does Professor Slughorn need several days to recover?”

“A thestral’s bite is temporally poisonous,” Remus said before Dumbledore could explain. “It makes you relieve the killing strike, when your fear and pain are at their highest. It loops your own death in your mind until the moment you die, so you lose those minutes of accepting and understanding what has happened to you. It steals your final chance at peace.”

“Although Madam Hooch was able to heal the wound, she could not remove the toxin. Horace has been stuck in his own death loop for sixteen hours now,” Dumbledore said. “It has taken that long to create a cure. It will take another twelve hours for it to completely rid his body of the substance.” Dumbledore paused. “You can imagine the hell he will have lived.” Draco glanced at Harry, saw the guilt flaying him. He touched Harry’s arm, and thought hard at him: This is not your fault. He willed the message to be understood.

Dumbledore noted the interaction. He would have to talk to Harry about this. He saw too easily himself and Grindlewald in this pair, young men brought to opposing sides and reaching across the divide for one another. Heartbreak and ruin were inevitable in such a situation; if he couldn’t save Harry from death, he could at least save him from himself. 

“Assuming Professor Slughorn’s death loop is about two minutes long, he will have experienced dying 840 times before finally rising back to consciousness. Naturally, the man will be exhausted tonight from his ordeal,” Dumbledore said. Draco’s hand remained rested on Harry’s arm, giving it a reassuring squeeze. Dumbledore shook his head. _This must end,_ he thought. “I would like you both to visit him sometime tomorrow, and express your gratitude for his assistance and your sincerest concern for his wellbeing. Harry, I will need you to meet with me in my office after you’ve done this.” He gave Harry a significant look. 

Harry nodded numbly. “Yes, of course,” he whispered.

Dumbledore watched them both a moment longer, then stood up. “My apologies once again, Remus, for intruding on your class time.”

“Not at all,” Remus said, standing with him. “This is important.”

“Well, I’ll leave you to it, then,” Dumbledore said, smiling at them all. 

Draco waited a beat after the door clicked shut behind the Headmaster before turning on Harry and asking, “Do you know why he only wants to meet you after we both go see Slughorn?”

Harry looked at Draco. “I’m not sure,” Harry started. “But I know Slughorn’s important, somehow. Dumbledore said it was ‘crucial’ he return to Hogwarts, and used me to convince him to come back.” He frowned. “Dumbledore said I would become his ‘crowning jewel’, and that I’m to let him ‘collect’ me.”

“That’s disturbing,” Draco said bluntly. “Is he a pedophile?”

“He’d never invite a pedophile to become a professor.”

“He invited a werewolf, that’s arguably more dangerous. No offense,” Draco casually tossed the last part in Remus’s direction. The tiny headway Draco had unknowingly made in earning the man’s approval plummeted. 

“Remus is not a danger to us!” Harry said hotly, yanking his arm away from Draco’s reach. “How can you work by his side and say that?!”

“It’s alright, Harry,” Remus said. He had been resigned to this type of treatment nearly all his life. It stoked a cold anger in him, but he accepted long ago that he had as much power to force tolerance from the prejudiced as he had power to cure his condition. All he could do was be the evidence that their beliefs are wrong. “Albus has shown troubling judgment at times, to say the least. And for those ignorant about the condition of lycanthropy, it could indeed appear dangerous to bring someone like me into a school.” He turned to Draco. “I would, however, encourage you to educate yourself to prevent you from looking so incredibly foolish when you speak on the subject.”

Draco’s nostrils flared and he looked like he wanted to snap back, but he remained silent. Harry gave him a gloating smile.

Remus took a deep breath and the mantra _compassion love light_ ran through his mind as he tried to regain composure. He needed to be in professor mode. “Alright,” he said when he could trust his voice to be gentle. “We made some groundbreaking work yesterday in your absence,” he said to Draco, trying to keep it from sounding like a jab. “Has Harry had the opportunity to discuss what we learned with you?”

“No,” Draco said, sulky. 

Remus smiled genuinely—it was moments like these when he was reminded that they were still children. He remembered feeling definitively adult at sixteen, but in hindsight could recognize how far he’d had to grow to become a man. He wondered how adult they felt, if they could still taste childhood like summer in their teeth. “That’s alright,” Remus assured him. “It’s truly in thanks to your thievery of Harry’s Map that new information came to light.”

“Don’t encourage him,” Harry said with a smirk. Draco smirked back, uncertain if Harry was being playful or bitchy.

“Resetting the Map triggered a memory from the time my friends and I crafted it,” Remus said. 

Draco was surprised. _But that would mean he was best friends with James Potter growing up,_ Draco thought, _Yet he refused to be anything other than a Professor to Harry in Year Three._ Draco marveled at the man’s self-restraint, and wondered how that translated to his lycanthropy. “Wait,” Draco said, feeling a laugh itch his chest. “Let me guess. You’re Messer Moony.” Remus gave a courtly bow in self-mockery. The gesture again surprised Draco—that was pure-blood training. Who was this man, who took the name of his Boggart’s image?

“To create our ink-blot Messers within the Map was our greatest challenge. When Sirius discovered--” 

Draco closed his eyes. _Sirius Black: the final Marauder._

“—how to accomplish this with sacrifice, Peter misunderstood and begged us to reconsider. He told us about the pain it would bring, and finally he gave a name to his fears.” Remus looked at the scar on Harry’s forehead. “Horcrux.”

Draco shivered.

Remus raised an eyebrow. “Do you know this name?” he asked carefully.

Draco shook his head. “Not truly,” he said. “I overheard it whispered, once. My Aunt and Mother were talking…” Draco realized he had to make a choice: how far was he willing to incriminate family? How firmly dedicated was he to ridding the world of the madman who tortured his Father? He swallowed hard. “…they were talking about Professor Snape’s loyalty,” he said quietly. “Aunt Bella said the only person Mother should trust was her, not only because they are blood, but because she is the only follower of the Dark Lord given the honour of protecting his Horcrux.” He looked at Harry. “That’s all I know.” He needed Harry to believe in him. “They caught me spying. Mother pretended to obliviate me to appease my Aunt, but Mother thinks that that spell should be an Unforgivable. She argues that it alters a person’s reality in a more invasive and permanent way than Imperious. She would never use it on me.”

Remus felt the excitement howl in his chest and forced himself to stay calm. “What you learned is far more important than you realize,” he said. “A Horcrux is an incredibly powerful object, an object that imbibes the pure energy of a human soul. Creating a Horcrux requires you to kill a witch or wizard. Other magical, sentient beings such as goblins or elves won’t work, a human squib or muggle won’t work, you must have all elements in your sacrifice: it must be a human of magical birth.” Remus flicked his gaze between his pupils, making sure they were following him. “When you murder someone, when you actively take their life by choice and not chance, your soul becomes fractured. In creating a Horcrux, you create new fractures through the appropriate offering, and in ritual you break your soul along those fracture lines. It’s an abomination.” His stomach griped tightly as he thought back to fourteen year old Peter, chubby-cheeked bookworm Peter, and how he had been exposed to knowing such darkness. “You mutilate your soul, and the pain is unthinkable. Your body cannot translate the type of pain, which comes from the world of the spirit, and so in some cases your body reacts by showing signs of disfigurement. This is why Voldemort looks as he does.”

“Why would he do it then?” Harry asked.

“That’s the interesting part,” Remus said. “Once you’ve broken your soul, you can then impregnate the piece into whatever vessel you choose. Water poured into a vessel becomes the vessel.” He noticed Harry’s brows furrow and that same irritated look crossed his face as it did when Remus had tried teaching him to light the candle. He changed tactics, becoming more direct in speech. “For example, let’s say I have created a Horcrux into a broom. The soul shard infuses the broom and gives it a form of life. Just as a whole soul fills our human bodies and gives us life, lets us move our meat and bones and grants us awareness, so does a splinter of soul give a touch of life. The broom has my soul, it is aware. It thinks, feels, and is intent on survival.” He noticed Harry give a little nod to himself as he absorbed the information. “The sacrifice of killing a magical born human ensures the inherited power of the newly born soul-object.” Remus saw the bland looks on the boy’s faces and realized they were missing how dangerous this was. “The first Horcrux ever made was a broom. When those came to destroy it, its bristles turned hard as diamonds and flew into the eyes of its attackers.” Both boys winced. That’s better, Remus thought, wanting to make sure they understood. “When it got bored of that tactic, it reversed its attacker’s perception of what was up and what was down. Men felt the world invert, the grass became like a roof and the sky an endless pit to fall into. Men crumpled to the ground, feeling like they were reaching upward for safety, and occasionally the broom would cancel gravity within that yard and let men fall into the clouds.”

“Did you say, ‘when it got bored’?” Draco repeated in fear and awe.

“By the reports made, yes,” Remus said. “Horcruxes are intelligent and ruthless. Their only ambition is to continue. Wealth, prestige, power--all our forms of currency mean nothing to them. Born of mutilation, they have no mercy.”

“So, Voldemort’s creating warriors?” Harry asked, confused.

“No,” Remus said. “The Horcrux lays dormant until activated. They become active when they sense discovery or danger to themselves, and immediately sleep again when the danger has passed. The purpose behind a Horcrux is this: when you have secured a piece of your soul into an object, you have anchored yourself to this world. For as long as your Horcrux remains safe, you cannot truly die.”

Draco looked disgusted. “But death is part of life,” he argued. “That’s like saying ‘I only want to live in light’, you can’t just dismiss the dark. It’s necessary to have dark in order to know light.”

“Many fear the dark,” Remus said. “Voldemort’s greatest desire is power. To be immortal is to have power over life and death itself, over the greatest and all-reaching law of our earthly existence. There is no greater power.”

“That’s how he was able to come back,” Harry said quietly. “We saw his body disintegrate when my mom attacked him. His body was gone…but he had a Horcrux, so he was able to crawl back into the world.”

“Precisely,” Remus said. 

“Wait a minute--” Harry gasped, eyes wide as his thoughts raced too fast for him to speak. “You said—oh god, can a Horcrux object be anything?”

“Yes, anything,” the professor said.

“A book?” Harry pressed.

“Sure, a book,” Remus agreed, eyes narrowing. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

Harry grinned. “I destroyed it already,” he said. “Back in Second Year.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “You prat, weren’t you listening to a word I said? Aunt Bella has it stashed away somewhere, she said so _this summer_.”

“No, this has to be it,” Harry argued. “It had his spirit come out of it and everything!”

“Harry, maybe it’s best if you start at the beginning,” Remus suggested. Harry told them about the Chamber of Secrets, how Riddle’s diary had latched into Ginny at discovery and possessed her, draining her of life. He told them about meeting Tom down in the Chamber of Secrets, and the battle that took place that day.

“That sounds like a textbook example of a Horcrux,” Remus said. 

Draco shook his head. “But Aunt Bella has it,” he insisted. 

“Yeah, well…did your father know where she hid it?” Harry asked. 

“What does my Father have to do with this?”

“Duh,” Harry said. “He planted the Diary on Ginny.” 

Draco looked as if he’d been slapped. “He did no such thing!” 

Harry stared at Draco. “You…don’t know, do you?”

“He did no such thing,” Draco repeated firmly.

“I’m sorry…yeah, he did. I even confronted him at the end of year.”

“Why?” Draco snapped, unbelieving. “Why would my Father give stupid little Ginny Weasley the herculean task of assisting a Shade of the Dark Lord with opening the Chamber of Secrets? If my Father was behind this, he would have chosen me to confide in.”

Harry knew Draco was trying to distract Harry from his pain by insulting Ginny. He forced himself not to fall for it. “The Diary was killing her. He was protecting you.”

Draco looked away. “If he was protecting me, then why was I left ignorant to this day?”

“What would you have done if he had told you?” Harry asked softly.

Draco screwed up his nose and defiantly looked at Harry. “I would have overseen everything and made certain no one interfered. I would have wanted a part in assisting the Dark Lord’s rise to power.”

Harry nodded. “We just learned that the Horcrux has no mercy, no allegiance to anything other than itself. It would have sucked her dry, and you along with her.” He put his hand over Draco’s. “Your father knows your heart. He knows you would have put yourself in danger for your family’s honour. He was protecting you.”

For the first time, Remus was reminded only of Lily as he watched Harry. Her ways of intuitively connecting, her stubborn gentleness… he looked away. 

Draco stared at Harry’s hand over his, the heat and intention of it. He looked up at Harry, and wished he could cast legilimency. 

“Harry,” Remus asked, the man’s voice causing Draco to pull his hand away. “Do you know what happened to the diary after you destroyed it?”

“I…” Harry hesitated, shooting an apologetic grin at Draco. “I used it to hide my sock and gave it to Lucius, who threw it at Dobby. That’s how he got freed.”

“Father said it was all your fault,” Draco said with a grin. “That was a hideously expensive stunt you pulled. Father was furious all summer.”

“Does the house elf still have the diary?” Remus asked, trying to keep his students on topic.

“I haven’t the foggiest,” Harry admitted. “We could ask him.” 

Draco groaned in annoyance. “Do we have to enlist the help of that sniveling wretch?”

Harry used his shoulder to push Draco, in a playful-not-playful way. “Don’t be a dick. We need answers.”

Remus held his hand to the level of his eyes and snapped his fingers hard. All Hogwarts house elves were bound to respond to any professor that summons them this way—but Dobby was a free elf and could not be summoned.

A house elf of indeterminable gender appeared, belly distended, and croaked at Remus, “Buvs at your service, sir!”

“Thank you, Buvs,” Remus said. “I need you to locate the house elf Dobby, and tell him Master Harry Potter wishes to speak with him immediately.”

Buvs griped drooping, hairy ears and yanked them down. “Buvs hates Dobby! Dobby works to sever Buvs and all house elves from their purpose!”

“Buvs, I need you to do this for me, that’s an order,” Remus said. He knew if he didn’t reiterate the servitude factor that the elf would agitate himself into self-harm.

Buvs quivered, and looked inquiringly up at Remus. “Does sir wishing Buvs to say, ‘Master Harry Potter’? Dobby will reject this; he has no Master,” Buvs said the last with flagrant disgust.

“Yes,” Remus said. “He will always answer the call of Master Harry Potter, and respects the title.”

Buvs gave a final yank on tender ears and disappeared.

“I like him,” Draco said cheerily. 

“Of course you do,” Harry said with a grin.

Suddenly Dobby apparated into the classroom, tears in his eyes as he squealed, “Master Harry Potter calls upon Dobby, in wishing to speak? Oh, sir…” Dobby approached Harry and wrung knobby hands together in delight. “You give Dobby the happiest days!”

Harry smiled, both embarrassed and amazed at the joy Dobby took in his slightest attention. “I’m glad, Dobby,” he said. “I have some questions for you. Do you remember the day you were freed?”

“The day you helped free me, sir,” Dobby corrected. “Such blessing and kindness Dobby never thought to see in his life.”

Harry was uncomfortable with such an open display of gratitude, but knew it would exponentially grow if he downplayed his own actions. “Right,” he said awkwardly. “Remember the book your sock was in? Did you keep it?”

Dobby titled his head, his long ears folding slightly inward. “Master Harry Potter wanted the book?” He started violently shaking. “Dobby did not know—Dobby did not know…” The house elf dropped to the floor and smashed his head into the stone floor. 

“Dobby!” Harry yelled, leaping to his side. He griped the tiny elf by his arms and pulled him upright. “Stop it! It’s okay!”

“Dobby would not have given it, if Dobby knew it was of value for Master Harry Potter,” he cried mournfully. 

“Given it? To whom?” Remus asked. Draco leaned back in his chair, shaking his head at the elf.

Dobby’s luminous eyes never left Harry’s as he answered, “The Headmaster asked Dobby for it, and Dobby gave without thinking…”

Harry looked up at Remus. “At least we know we’re on the right track,” the man said, with a disappointed sigh. Harry spent a few minutes assuring the house elf that it was okay, that he wasn’t angry and that Dobby can’t continue to punish himself. Draco, bored, began listing the work he could be doing in his head. His fingers tapped impatiently on his knee.

“There is another way you could help us Dobby,” Harry said. Dobby perked at the chance of redemption. “Since the summer before my Second Year, you tried to keep me away from Hogwarts. You were certain my life would be in danger if I returned to school. Can you tell me exactly what you learned, and how you learned it? It’s okay if you can’t,” he added quickly, afraid of sending the elf back into self-flagellation. 

Draco’s attention was seized by this question.

“Dobby was attending to Master Malfoy, in his study,” he said, his voice warbly and afraid. He glanced at Draco, who was watching him with steel in his eyes. The house elf cringed. 

Harry noticed the interaction, and said, “It’s okay, no one is going to hurt you. You can tell us. You’re allowed.”

“Is….is very difficult, Master Harry Potter,” Dobby said. Suddenly he straightened. “Dobby will give you better than words: Dobby will give you memory.” He pressed his fingertip against the centre of his forehead, and after a moment of concentration pulled a thick cord of liquid that looked almost like molasses from his mind. He snapped his fingers and a glass dish appeared, catching the coiling memory. 

“That’s an impressive gift, thank you Dobby,” Remus said.

“Yeah, thanks, this is perfect,” Harry said. Draco said nothing.

The house elf took the wide, shallow dish in his hands. He trotted over to Remus’s desk and laid it in the centre, briefly watching its contents swing as it worked to settle. He returned to Harry’s side and tugged his sleeve gently. “Unless you are needing Dobby further…Dobby doesn’t wish to stay while young Malfoy is seeing his memory, sir.”

Harry glanced again at Draco who looked like offended royalty. “Yeah, that’s just fine Dobby. Thank you.” With a grateful smile, Dobby disapparated. “Alright,” Harry said, standing decisively. “Let’s do this.”

“One moment, Harry,” Remus said. “Have either of you ever been privy to a wizard’s pensieve?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “I have one,” he drawled.

Harry nodded. “Yes,” he said simply, not wanting to elaborate.

“Alright, that’s a good first step,” Remus acknowledged. “However, house elf memories are a drastically different experience. Whereas in a wizard’s memory, you enter as an outsider observing all around you, in a house elf memory you will become that individual. You will not have the luxury of standing apart; you see, feel, and do as he did. It can be challenging, considering the level of constant fear and anxiety a house elf lives with.”

“I’m no stranger to those. Let’s go,” Harry repeated, walking towards the desk.

Remus chuckled at Harry’s boldness. “Alright, Harry. It’s my job to make sure you know what you’re getting into before letting you tumble in.” Harry shot a grin at him as they both stood at the desk.

Draco slowly stood, but did not move towards them. Harry looked at him, puzzled. “I…” Draco began. He shook his head. “I can’t.”

“What do you mean, you can’t?” Harry asked.

Draco stared at Harry. “I’d be experiencing it,” he said quietly. “And when it’s over, it will be added to my memory as something that happened to me.”

“Yeah, but then you just logically separate it, because you know what it is,” Harry said, trying to understand.

“I don’t want to be afraid of my Father.” Draco took a deep breath. “I don’t want a memory of him hurting me. Father was not kind to Dobby.”

Harry could have kicked himself for not considering. “Right,” he said. “I get that. It’s okay, we don’t need three people to get this done. We’ll tell you what we learn.”

Draco watched the two Gryffindors turn towards the glass bowl, and felt so far away from them. He hated being left out. _That doesn’t matter,_ he thought. _I can’t do it._ Who knew what level of mistreatment this memory would include…he didn’t want the risk. Harry and Lupin were willing to retrieve the information themselves. _Information about Father._ That thought caused a sinking in his gut. 

“Wait,” he said. His heart raced, dreading what he was about to do.

“You don’t have to,” Harry said with concern as Draco approached them.

“Shut up,” Draco said, afraid that he would balk if he let himself listen. “If my Father’s involved, I need to see it for myself.” 

Harry nodded. He wanted to argue, to convince Draco to sit this one out. But Harry could tell Draco needed his support rather than his protection.

Remus watched Draco for a moment, saw the determination and fear in his eyes, and wished he felt more confident allowing the boy to join them. He sighed. “To enter, we each hold our non-dominant hand over the bowl…”

Harry extended his right hand. Draco held out his left, and hoped nobody noticed the tiny tremor along it. Remus added his left.

“Allow your fingers to touch mine and each other’s,” he instructed, moving his hand closer to the center. The boys did, Draco trying to will his hand to remain still. 

“We’ll submerge our hands together. It’s important we do this at the same time, otherwise we’re out of sync with one another and our experiences echo. It’s a very disturbing sensation.”

 _Could be trippy. Especially if you go in absolutely potion-soaked or drunk. Better be a good memory though…_ Draco’s thoughts rambled, trying to distract himself from the fear of what was to come.

“Ready?” Remus asked, and although his question was to both pupils he watched Draco.

“Ready,” Harry confirmed. 

Draco took a deep breath. “Ready,” he lied.

Their hands lowered. The liquid was lukewarm and strangely soft, like an oil. The sensation barely had time to register before all three of them were thrown into reliving the memory.

_Lucius is leaning over his desk, strands of hair having pulled free of their tie and falling into his face. There are three objects lined in front of him: a large key, an obsidian statue, and a leather-bound book. “Eleven years,” he whispers, staring at the objects. He gently lays a hand overtop the key and pushes it to one side. “I know only one of three mysteries.” Strong fingers open the book cover like a child tearing the wings from an insect: curious, detached, gentle in brutality. The pages within are blank, a sight that continues to defy his will. His lip curls, and he turns to Dobby. “What do you think of that?” A dangerous question. Masters never want to know what house elves think, except when looking for an excuse to punish. Dobby’s fingers ache, two possibly broken, from incorrectly answering his Master’s last question. His mind stumbles quickly for reply. “Dobby thinks the Dark Lord is keeping all secrets tightly, and for Master to learn any is a triumph.” He trembles as his verdict flashes through his Master’s eyes. “Wine,” he commands. Relief rattles through the elf as he hastily snaps two bruised fingers to conjure a new bottle. His injuries make his hands clumsy, and he knows he is taking too long to open it. Fear escalates as he struggles with the bottle, and his poor hands are screaming as he forces them to function. Dobby dares a quick glance at his Master, who has raised an eyebrow at him. The house elf squeaks, knowing that look, and his efforts become more frantic. The bottle opens, and Dobby rushes to refill his Master’s glass._

_Dobby’s injured hands and his speed led to the bottle tipping too far while pouring._

_With horror, Dobby watches as the wine spills past the glass…and onto the pages of the book._

_“Idiot!” Lucius screams, his arm like a battering ram as it sweeps glass and house elf as far from him as possible. Dobby cringes, waiting for retaliation, but sees his Master pull his handkerchief from his breast pocket to dab the pages. He is more concerned about restoration than repercussion. Dobby stands, babbling apologies, but his Master is not moving. He is staring at the book._

_Dobby looks at the pages, terrified to see the damage. He realizes the wine has fully immersed into the parchment, and words have formed: “How did you come by my diary?”_

_Lucius, eyes not leaving the pages, blindly reaches into his desk drawer for quill and ink pot. He slowly sits down, and writes back: “Eleven years ago, the Dark Lord fell. I immediately returned to his lair, rescuing three items he prized before traitors could begin trading information for their lives. This was one of those three items, which I have loyally kept while waiting for his return.”_

_There was a pause, where Dobby is afraid Lucius will lose patience, but then came the reply: “How did I fall?”_

_Dobby read as Lucius carefully explains. “No one is certain; the Dark Lord went to murder the Potter family. He succeeded in killing the parents, but the child still lives. Some say his curse rebounded and killed him, but no body was found to prove this.” He pauses delicately. “I will never betray my Lord; can you prove to me you are him?”_

_“I can show you,” the words glint persuasively on the page. “I can take you into my memory.”_

_Lucius hesitates. He looks at Dobby, and says, “If I do not return within the hour, wake my wife and tell her everything.”_

_“As you wish, sir,” Dobby squeaks solemnly._

_Lucius presses his quill hard into the page and responds: “Show me.”_

_Dobby watches as his Master is enveloped in complete stillness. He begins to count the seconds, determined to keep track of the time. He concentrates so wholly on counting that he is startled when Lucius is released from the book’s hold and leans back in his chair. “Wine, Dobby,” he says, throat dry. “Get it right this time.” Dobby conjures a clean glass and takes care to pour it properly, handing the glass to his Master. Lucius takes a long drink before setting the glass down and retrieving his quill._

_“Forgive me for doubting you, my Lord,” he writes._

_“Your suspicion was in good form,” it replies. “My original body must have been destroyed, the soul inhabiting it lost. There is no other explanation for why I have been missing for eleven years with nary a rumor.” The words dissolve and are replaced with: “You will assist my return.”_

_“I am at your command,” Lucius wrote quickly._

_“Give this diary to the Potter child,” it writes. “I will feed off her soul and use her to open the Chamber of Secrets. She must bear exceedingly great power and mystery to have resisted the killing curse; what once destroyed me will now nourish me as I drain the life from her. I will use her soul to form a new physical body, kill the child, unleash my Basalisk from its suspension of consciousness and announce my full return by an inside attack on Hogwarts itself.”_

_“A small revisal, my Lord…the Potter child is a boy. Harry Potter.”_

_“Harry Potter. Harry Potter must die.”_

_“And so he will, my Lord. I fear I do not have the connections necessary to plant this diary with him. However, I could leave it in the hands of a besotten little girl he would die for.”_

_“You can guarantee he would come for her?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“I will drain the girl enough to lure him. I will use her to instill fear within the castle. And when he comes for her…Harry Potter will die, and I will rise from his ashes.”_

_Dobby set his lips in a firm line, and thought in determination: Harry Potter must not return to Hogwarts!_

The memory ended, abruptly throwing the three wizards out. 

“That wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought it would be,” Harry said, straightening up. Both Remus and Draco had paled, their scars bright against their whitening skin. Remus sat in his chair, almost a fall. Draco had both hands on the desktop and was hunched over. “You both alright?” Harry asked. 

Remus looked at Harry and nodded, but found he couldn’t speak just yet. Seeing Harry so unaffected nearly gutted the man and intensified his symptoms. House elves are entirely self-loathing, comfortable in humiliation and believe themselves unworthy of kindness. Entering a house elf memory saturates the wizard in these core beliefs; the memory aftertaste concentrates those feelings before extinguishing. Harry’s lack of response revealed how much the boy must hate himself, or consider himself worthless.

Remus, on the other hand, had never hated himself. He compartmentalized his lycanthropy separate from his identity, and truly believed himself to be a good man. He forced himself not to think about Harry and his non-reaction, or else he would cycle himself further into misery and self-blame and perpetuate the cycle he was stuck in. He took a few calming breaths, focused on himself until the last vestiges of the memory’s effects faded. 

Draco, who thought very highly of himself, had farther to fall and was having a worse time of things. He squeezed his eyes shut and tightened every muscle to straining. Remus stood, noted that his knees were still a little weak, and moved around the desk to put an arm around the boy. “Come back now,” he said gently. “Come back.”

It took a minute, but human contact helped Draco return to himself. He gasped and looked up at Remus. “That was wretched,” he said hoarsely.

Remus smiled. “I have just the thing for that.” He pulled back from his student and opened his desk drawer, pulling out chocolate.

“What happened to you two?” Harry asked as Remus handed out chocolate to the three of them. 

“Entering the minds of different species can occasionally have side-effects,” Remus said. “House elves are more challenging than giants or goblins, for example. But no matter; the side effects are temporary.” He purposely avoided details; Harry’s self-esteem would not improve by having it analyzed in front of others. “Now then,” he continued. “It would appear the Dark Lord has more than one Horcrux. This complicates matters. We need to determine how many he has before he can be defeated. What else did we learn from this memory?” He looked to both his students, who couldn’t come up with anything. “The diary was kept at the Dark Lord’s side, before Lucius took it. It’s a good strategy—the diary effectively became an alarm of sorts. If your enemies are searching to destroy your Horcruxes, they would leave the one at your side last in fear of alerting you prematurely. By this line of thinking, I believe it’s likely that the Dark Lord has created yet another Horcrux to replace the ‘lost’ diary. Something he keeps near him at all times.”

“A minimum of two active Horcruxes, plus this body,” Draco said thoughtfully. 

“Precisely,” Remus said. “Though I suspect the Dark Lord would never settle for the minimum.”

“Wanna bet Dumbledore knows how many there are?” Harry said. “He’s had fifteen years to figure it out.”

“I’m not so sure, Harry,” Remus said thoughtfully. “He may not have reached this theory until your First Year, when he saw the form in which the Dark Lord returned.”

“Fine, five years then,” Harry said with a smirk. 

“We can’t ask him,” Remus said. “If he still believes you have to die, he’ll Obliviate us the second we confide in him. If he wanted you to know, you’d know.” He sighed. “I fear he believes your death is the only thing that can win the war. He won’t jeopardize a plan that important.” Remus leaned across the desk and looked Harry in the eye. “We will find another way. I promise you.”

Harry nodded. He wasn’t sure he believed Remus, but he believed *in* Remus, and that was enough for now. “I know we can’t ask him,” he said quietly. “It’s just frustrating when we’re supposed to be on the same side.”

“How many times can a wizard break his soul?” Draco asked. “I mean, the soul is immeasureable…Could the number of Horcruxes be comparable?”

“Oh gods no,” Remus said. “No…the soul is meant to be whole. Breaking it even once is against everything it is. Understand, information on Horcruxes is limited. I cast the summoning spell yesterday for any texts on the subject to come to me. Four answered my call, three of which only say enough on the subject to condemn those who seek the creation of a Horcrux as ‘doomed’ to evil. The last book is the only volume in all of Hogwarts that contains useful information.”

Draco whistled. When Harry was unmoved by this, Draco rolled his eyes and said, “The Hogwarts library boasts to have information on everything, and is the height of jealousy for any bibliophile.”

“Oh,” Harry said, feeling stupid. “So…does this book say how many Horcruxes a wizard could make?” Harry pressed, trying to connect the points Remus was making.

“No,” he said quietly. “It does not give a specific number. It does, however, impress the fact that a limit does exist. Attempting to create a Horcrux outside that limit shatters the consciousness across every Horcrux you’ve borne. Your original body becomes nothing more than a Horcrux itself. Your consciousness is spread across multiple forms experiencing itself concurrently, which means any threads of understanding that stretch into your dormancy will drive you mad. Essentially, it’s worse than death.”

Harry thought about that. _Your consciousness is spread across multiple forms…_ “Um,” Harry started, unsure. “Maybe that’s why I could get visions of what he was doing. He’s on the brink of breaking apart already.”

Remus nodded. “Visions aren’t normal; that would make sense…”

Harry sucked in a breath. “I once had a vision in Nagini’s body,” he said quickly. “She has to be a Horcrux then. The thing close to him to replace the diary.”

“Brilliant!” Remus exclaimed. “Well done, Harry.” Harry looked away, embarrassed at the praise, but pleased with himself. “On speculation only, I believe his Horcruxes must be nine or less. Numbers hold a special power when they are held alone; double-digits become a different sort of power. The Dark Lord believes in the power of the singular, and scoffs at partnerships; he would be drawn to the particular power of single-digit numbers. We know about the diary, Nagini, and the one Bellatrix guards as his intentional Horcruxes. That means a maximum of six to learn about…perhaps a further study in numerology and astronomy will guide us to the right number. In the meantime, we ought to collect some basalisk venom. As one of the few known methods of destroying a Horcrux, we will need it on hand.”

“But how are we going to find another basalisk?” Harry asked. 

Remus smiled dangerously. “Who says we have to find another? Knowing its value to the war, Dumbledore would have left the body in the Chamber. Which means we can harvest the venom.”

Draco’s eyes lit up. “We get to go to the Chamber of Secrets?” 

“As long as you promise not to give tours to your fellow Slytherins,” Remus said.

“Of course not,” Draco lied, already fantasizing about taking Vince and Greg down and showing off their cool new lair.

“Okay,” Remus said. He looked to Harry. “Lead the way.”

The three of them walked down the hallway in silence, wanting the least amount of attention possible. They passed Mrs. Norris, who gave them a dirty look as she trotted past to investigate an unusual dripping sound coming from an empty classroom. Harry stopped in front of the girl’s bathroom door and jerked a thumb at it. “It’s in there,” he said. “Before, Hermione would go in first to make sure it was empty…”

Both Draco and Harry looked expectantly to Remus. The older man scoffed, embarrassed, and made a dramatic knock on the door. “Excuse me,” he said loudly. He looked back at the boys, who urged him onwards. He sighed. He could just imagine the newspaper headlines: pervy professor caught in student toilets. “Is anyone in there,” he asked, cracking the door open an inch and waiting. 

“Oh for the sake of the gods,” Draco hissed, and he pushed past his professor. “Lllladies! Do you mind if I… _slyther-in_?” 

Harry slapped a hand against his forehead and Remus gaped at the swinging door.

“It’s all clear,” Draco called back. Harry and Remus quickly went inside, aware they had already made quite a bit of noise and wanting to hurry. “You’re sure you’re not leading us on?” Draco asked suspiciously.

“I’m not leading you on,” Harry said, walking towards the sink with the notching in it. “It’s through here.”

Draco looked dubiously at the sink. “Well, that doesn’t make any sense.”

Harry raised his eyebrows in amusement. “Oh really? A secret chamber is fine and dandy, as long as it’s not hidden in the loo?”

Draco smirked at Harry and said in a superior tone, “Hogwarts was built in the tenth century, and sinks were invented in the eighteenth.”

Harry was stumped. “Oh.”

“So Salazaar couldn’t have built his secret chamber connected to this bathroom,” Draco added triumphantly.

“That’s because he didn’t,” Remus said. “This wasn’t always a bathroom. Notice the exceptionally high ceiling? This was originally a ventos.” He smiled at the boys, and faltered when he saw the blank looks on their faces. “A ventos room was very popular when Hogwarts was first created. The centre of the room featured pipes, leading from the high ceiling down to waist level. The ceiling was partitioned off into a separate room where the vision serpents lived.”

Harry smirked, thinking of Professor Trewlawny wrapped in garden snakes and swearing they were vision serpents. 

“The pipes were closed off to the serpents until a wizard was ready to perform the bloodletting,” Remus continued. “You would insert your finger in the pipe, and it would magically seal around your finger. Once sealed, the tube leading to the ceiling would open, and the scent of human flesh would bring one of the vision serpents forward. They each had two heads, and depending on which head bit you, you would have a different vision quest. Sometimes this led to ancestral contact, sometimes it was divination.” Remus admired the piping that rose from the sinks. “When bloodletting became illegal, these rooms were closed down. This meant when bathrooms were being constructed, they already had piping initialized. It would have been easy to maintain the original pieces of the room—which means the charms Salazaar implemented for his chamber would be left intact.”

“The man has memorized the history of school bathrooms. You must have a dozen girls lined up on each arm,” Draco teased.

Remus smiled in a strange way that Harry didn’t understand. “I only need the one.” Draco grinned at the man and wondered, _Who would be crazy enough to date a werewolf?_ “So, Harry. How do we gain entrance?” Remus asked.

Harry looked at the tap and said, “Open.” His heart sped up when nothing happened. “Open,” he said again, and suddenly realized the problem. “Why can’t I speak Parseltongue?!”

“Oh,” Remus said softly. “Parseltongue is not an ability that you learned; it’s something your body was born with. Which means--”

“ _I can speak Parseltongue_?!?” squealed Draco.

Harry winced. “I’m pretty sure every bat in the Forbidden Forest is wondering what that sound was.”

“How do I do it?” Draco asked Harry, grabbing him by the robes. “Tell me how I do it! I wanna do it!”

Harry laughed. “Just concentrate on doing it, and you just sorta _do_. I don’t know how it works.”

Draco let him go and turned to face the sink. “ _Open_!” he commanded, instantly sliding into Parseltongue. With an otherworldly metallic groan, the sink shifted and moved downwards, revealing a pipe wide enough for a man to slide through. Draco spread his arms and looked heaven-ward. “This is the best day,” he said.

“If you’ll excuse me,” Remus said, stepping next to Draco. “I’ll go first.”

“What? No way! I’m going first!” Draco said territorially.

“I have to insist as the only one of us able to perform magical reliably, that I go first. Just in case.”

Draco quickly recognized the logic in that and stood aside without further fuss.

Remus peered down the metal tube and was unable to see the landing. He briefly considered removing his jacket; it was his only school-worthy jacket, and it had been repairo’d so many times that the base fabric was no longer enough to support another spell. If he damaged it, he would have to either sew it by hand, or find a replacement. However, he remembered he couldn’t take his jacket off today; the shirt he wore under was the one with the blue curse markings left stained in the back, right behind his heart. He was lucky he had survived the blast, but mysteriously could not remove the marking. As he normally wore it with a jacket, he kept the shirt when most wizards would have thrown it out. He sighed, wishing such stupid things weren’t such worries, and climbed over the lip of the tube. He slid down. 

Draco leaned over, trying to watch the man’s descent, but could only hear the faint whooshing of fabric against metal. Remus slid in darkness, tense, preparing his knees for the landing and holding his wand firmly to his side. The tube evened out at the end, depositing Remus in a much kinder way than he had expected to the wet ground. Mucous-thick fluids sprayed up his legs at his landing. He surveyed the area, wand out, only relaxing when he was sure he was alone. The tunnels were cramped, wet stone, leading from the tube’s entrance towards a singular pathway. Aside from the water and sludge, there was nothing noteworthy. “All clear,” he called up to his students.

Draco immediately hopped over the lip of the tube, grinning at Harry. “The Chamber. The Actual Chamber. This is amazing.” Harry smiled along, knowing soon Draco would be covered in slime. Draco released his hold of the tube’s edge, and slid down. Harry waited…

“ _Grendel’s heaving ballsack, what is this slime?! _”__

__Harry laughed and slid down._ _

__He could hear Draco’s loud protests the entire way. “This is disgusting! There is absolutely no way this is what Salazaar Slytherin designed for his secret fortress! Do you have any idea how expensive these shoes are? They were made to be beautiful, not to withstand the elements!” Harry landed on top of Draco, who had been so distressed at the dirtiness of landing that he had not gotten out of the way. “You idiot!” Draco whined, as Harry quickly got off him and helped him to his feet. Draco discarded his school robe, filthy from his fall. _It’s only dirt,_ Remus wanted to chide the boy, shocked that he would abandon perfectly good school robes over something so easily remedied. “Do you want me to charm it clean for you?” Remus asked instead._ _

__“Don’t bother,” Draco said. “I have plenty of them in my dorm. And something tells me the stench would never quite leave. Do I even want to know what we’re standing in?”_ _

__“Probably not,” Remus and Harry said at the same time. They grinned at each other.  
Draco gave a long suffering sigh. “Let’s just go. The Chamber better be worth it.”_ _

__“This *is* the Chamber,” Harry deadpanned._ _

__“I hate you,” Draco said with silk and smiles as he followed an already retreating Remus down the tunnel._ _

__“You too,” Harry said, the words unexpectedly soft and moving his mouth into a grin._ _

__The three of them walked onwards, the air chill from the wet stone and the darkness preventing them from knowing how far they had to go. Remus purposely did not cast Lumos, not wanting to ruin their night vision._ _

__They reached a fallen rock wall, the place where Lockhart’s curse caused the walls to cave in. Harry was amazed, seeing this wall, seeing the hole Ron had created by manually moving stones for him and Ginny to squeeze through…the hole was so small. How had he fit?_ _

__“It’s through there,” Harry said._ _

__“No shit,” Draco muttered, giving Harry a playful nudge in his ribs. Harry could see the boy’s excitement returning._ _

__Remus cast at the wall, carefully increasing structural integrity to the supporting stones and removing enough around the existing hole to allow them to pass through. He stepped through, and the boys followed. It wasn’t long before the path ended in a solid wall, two entwined serpents carved from the single piece of rock, each taller than a man. Their eyes were set with emeralds, and Harry felt creeped out by how contrastingly clean and bright they were in this forgotten part of the castle. The emeralds held so much light, they almost appeared equipped with vision. “You’ll need to command them to open,” Harry told Draco, feeling strange and somehow outside of everything._ _

__Draco gazed up at them, impressed at the artistry that went into detailing every scale. “ _Answer and obey me_ ,” he said to the serpents. The emeralds glinted in near-recognition. “ _Can you communicate?_ ” Draco asked. He had so many questions, and he was eager to discover every single secret the room contained. He was disappointed when nothing happened, and after waiting finally relented. “ _I command you to reveal the Chamber._ ”_ _

__With a crack, the stone serpents began to separate, the halves of the wall sliding out of sight and opening into the Chamber of Secrets._ _

__It was a testament to Draco’s sense of logic and self-protection that he allowed Remus to enter before himself. He was aching to stride in like an emperor, to claim the room as his. But his House namesake was a dangerous man, and this room deserved caution. He watched as Remus walked in, unaware of the sanctity of the moment for Draco. The professor cast a few scans, and was quickly reassured they were the only living creatures within the room. He beckoned the boys in, and Draco immediately entered and began questioning the stone serpents that coiled around the many pillars lining the moated walkway. His soft hissing made the eerie room feel more threatening. Harry felt dread in the pit of his stomach as he walked last into the room. He watched Remus approaching the basalisk corpse, and flashed on memories of the creature sinking its kill fang into his forearm. His heart sped up as he remembered dying on the stones._ _

__Receiving no reaction from the stone snakes, Draco’s gaze snagged on the statue of Salazaar Slytherin at the end of the walkway. It stood a foot taller than most men, the stone so perfectly carved that its robes flowed easily and its skin appeared creased and elastic. Draco stood in front of it, staring up into its eyes. The stone over its eyes appeared wet…like the eyes themselves were not quite stone. Draco hissed commands in Parseltongue, and the statue ignored him. Deep in thought, Draco wondered what type of words he would select as triggers if he were the founder imparting a secret room designed to protect the purity of magic. “ _Hogwarts is in danger,_ ” Draco hissed. _ _

__The statue smiled._ _

__“Guys--” Draco shouted, absolutely gleeful at his discovery. “Guys—come see this!”_ _

__“In a minute, Mr. Malfoy,” Remus called back, staring intently as he milked drops of poison carefully into a vial._ _

__Harry walked towards Draco. He saw the statue lift its arm and with arthritic slowness shift its cloak away from its body, revealing an iron sword belted into a stone scabbard. Like a nihilist Excaliber, the sword was drawn from the stone by the stone._ _

__The statue stabbed Draco clean through the heart._ _

__Draco felt his breath stolen, his eyes widen. The sword, slick on his blood, pulled free from his body and he crumpled to the ground without its support. He watched, unblinking, as the statue began to walk away, casting some charm to create a stairwell. It had no business with the two remaining purebloods._ _

__Harry screamed and rushed towards Draco. Remus, startled at the sound, jerked the vial away from the dripping poison and looked towards the boys. He saw Harry lean down to Draco, blood pooling around him, and a statue of the Slytherin founder ascending a newly created stairway. He let the vial crash to the stone as he whipped out his wand and charged towards the statue. He couldn’t let that thing enter the main part of the castle._ _

__Harry was on his knees, leaning over Draco, when the world tilted and colours became unbound. Suddenly, he saw Draco’s body leaning over him, pale skin and white-blonde hair, Gryffindor robes billowed…he blinked and was once again looking down at his own body, dying for the second time on the floor of the Chamber. He felt queasy. He put his hands over Draco’s wound – and felt hands pressing down on his chest. He closed his eyes, trying to stay focused on a singular experience._ _

__“Harry! Are you both okay?” Remus shouted as he battled the statue. It was reacting with purely defensive maneuvers. Remus’s spells did not affect the stone other than to distract it._ _

__“I got him,” Harry’s words were spoken softly from both bodies. He could feel himself slipping and tipping back and forth between the two, and knew that if he let go and returned to his own body that it would be for the moment of death. He had to hold on._ _

__Remus, in a desperate choice in hexes, cast the blasting curse at the statue. The stone man raised its sword and the iron absorbed the energy without any damage. It turned and took another step up the stairway it created. Remus thought frantically of any obscure spells he knew that this thing wouldn’t be protected from, something that could destroy both the statue and the sword…_ _

__“You turn from me because I’m a pureblood,” Remus shouted at it. It continued up the stairs. “But I’m tainted! I’m a werewolf—a blood abomination!” The statue froze. It turned, purposefully descending the stairs to face Remus anew. _That’s right, come to me,_ Remus thought to himself, backing away from the landing. He couldn’t cast this charm anywhere near the staircase._ _

__The statue swung its sword in a heavy arc, and Remus barely leapt out of the way in time. He led his attacker a good distance away, dodging the many sweeps of its sword, before casting. “Ardebit!” He yelled. A soft, hazy pink cloud sneezed from his wand tip. The cloud engulfed the statue, melting stone and iron with the strength of acid. A grey puddle was all that remained. It would dissipate in time, but was lethal if touched in its current state. Remus rushed towards the boys._ _

__“Let me see,” the professor said urgently. Harry had both hands pressed to Draco’s chest, and was leaning into the hold. “Harry, let me see,” Remus insisted when the boy didn’t move._ _

__Harry couldn’t move. He had been trying to heal Draco, but his magic depended on him relinquishing control. At his first try, he felt himself teeter and fall further from this body than before, barely able to return. The struggle to remain in Draco’s body was immensely painful, and Harry was terrified of attempting any further magical or even physical movement, the spiritual fight demanding his every energy._ _

__Harry could feel Draco’s spirit pushing against him. The back of his head throbbed. It was crushing. He tried to focus a message to Draco, telling him to get out, and got the strangest sensation that _yes, he was trying to.__ _

__Remus realized something was wrong with Harry, some form of shock. He moved Harry off of Draco and opened Draco’s sweater and shirt. The stab wound was pumping so much blood. Remus, by necessity of his lycanthropy, was extremely skilled at the healing arts. He cast several charms in quick succession, checking the status of each one, and recasting to supplement their strength. The boy’s eyes, which had been open and unseeing, brightened back to life. Draco gasped as the wild grief of the body coalesced to burn in his chest, and he weakly rolled over and curled in on himself._ _

__Remus sighed in relief. He moved towards Harry, but before he could cast the diagnostic spell the boy sat up._ _

__“Draco--?” Harry asked, looking around._ _

__“He’s fine,” Remus said as Harry’s disoriented gaze found the boy laying on the stone. “Are you? What happened?”_ _

__“I’m okay,” Harry said, dismissive of himself, and quickly moved to Draco’s side. He sat next to him, and put a hand on his shoulder. “Hey,” he said quietly. The boy shook under his touch. “It’s just me,” Harry said. Draco kept his eyes squeezed shut and refused to respond. Harry looked back up at Remus. “You’re sure he’s healed?”_ _

__“Aside from needing blood replenishing potions, yes,” Remus said. “We need to take him to Madam Pomfrey.”_ _

__Harry felt a stone sink low in his gut. “She will report to Dumbledore.”_ _

__“I know,” Remus said. “We don’t have a choice.”_ _

__Harry thought quickly. He knew Draco needed this, but there had to be another way. If Dumbledore found out they knew so much, he would obliviate them. Draco, in Harry’s body, living with that thing in his head, would be helpless to Dumbledore’s plans._ _

__“Would Slughorn have any stored? He’s got to, right? He’s the potions master,” Harry asked._ _

__Remus grimaced. “The blood replenishing potion isn’t something taught at Hogwarts. That’s part of a Healer’s degree.”_ _

__“Hagrid!” Harry cried._ _

__“What?” Remus asked._ _

__“Hagrid keeps blood replenishing potions in his hut,” Harry explained quickly. “He says he doesn’t want to have to ‘bother Madam Pomfrey over minor scrapes’, so he keeps a stash of them.”_ _

__“And he’s so disorganized, he’d never notice one missing…” Remus murmured, thinking to himself. “Brilliant!” He took out his wand. “Mr. Malfoy, I’m going to levitate you. We’re leaving.”_ _

__“Wait,” Draco rasped. “Check…” His voice faltered._ _

__Remus knelt down next to the boy. “Check what?” He asked with concern._ _

__“…my mind,” Draco said. “He woke.”_ _

__Harry felt his breath catch._ _

__Remus wanted to shake the boy for not speaking up earlier. “Did you see him?”_ _

__“Worse,” Draco said, finally lifting his face from hiding. He looked directly at Harry. “He saw me.”_ _

__“Alright, Mr. Malfoy, stay calm,” Remus directed. He raised his wand._ _

__Harry put a hand over Remus’s wand arm, lowering his aim. “Wait,” Harry said quickly._ _

__“What?” Remus snapped. He was scared._ _

__“Just…can you actually legilimens him? I mean, with the Switch?”_ _

__“Yes, of course I can,” Remus said._ _

__“You’re sure?” Harry pressed. He explained quickly, “It’s just that last night I took a potion that affects the mind, and it backfired. Badly.”_ _

__“You what?” Remus replied, shocked. He hadn’t thought Harry had inherited James’s recreational vice…_ _

__“Long story, no time,” Harry snapped back, defensive. “But the point is, the potion was meant to affect the mind, and the brain and the mind are split. The reaction was bad. It could have killed me.” He swallowed. “So are you certain--?”_ _

__“Yes,” Remus interrupted. “Potions are rigid, you either brewed it right or not, and it can only interact mathematically—as in correctly with the appropriate conduit, or adversely if the subject deviates from the norm. It can’t be flexible. Casting, on the other hand, can.” He aimed his wand at Draco and softly cast, “Legilimens.”_ _

__It was unlike any legilimens he had performed before. Remus felt himself swooping, that half falling half flying sensation, through the boy’s mind. As he searched the rapid fire imagery of Draco’s memory, he would occasionally stumble over a black-and-white image—a remnant of Harry’s mind, a body memory so strong it remained behind. These shards were the same theme: a fear of touch. Every physical interaction the boy had growing up for a decade with the Dursleys involved pain. His body remembered._ _

__Remus kept looking, through the searing bright images of white-hot shame, through the dazzling iridescent beauty of love, through the fuzzy distorted images of memories partially forgotten._ _

__If it were active and alert, he should be able to find it. But if it were dormant again, it would be as invisible as any forgotten memory._ _

__After a long search, he withdrew. “I found nothing,” he said, still suspicious._ _

__Draco shook his head, a small rapid movement, his eyes large and fearful. “He’s awake,” he insisted._ _

__“Can you see him, or sense him in any way?” Remus asked._ _

__“I’m trying, I’ve _been_ trying,” Draco said._ _

__Remus pursed his lips. “With safety restored, he may have returned to dormancy…”_ _

__“If he can communicate—if he can send a message to the Dark Lord—”_ _

__“Mr. Malfoy, we have no basis to think that,” Remus said sternly, wanting to quell unnecessary panic._ _

__“He saw me!” Draco yelled, voice pitching wildly. “ _He smiled at me._ He understands, he knows everything now--”_ _

__“You need to calm yourself,” Remus said warningly._ _

__“If he could report it back—if there is any ability for the Dark Lord to receive this knowledge—my family—”_ _

__“Stop it,” Remus said firmly. “If you keep this up you’re going to make yourself lightheaded and pass out.”_ _

__Draco wasn’t sure if he wanted to scream, swing a punch at Remus, or simply cry. He was so stung at the unfairness of being treated like a child when his fear was legitimate. He suddenly felt exhausted, and let his head rest back down again and closed his eyes. Fine, he thought to himself. He’ll be quiet. He’ll just keep searching, like he was doing before._ _

__“Mobilicorpus,” Remus cast softly. Draco’s body lifted into the air, waiting for Remus to direct it. “Alright, let’s go. Where do the stairs take us?” He asked Harry._ _

__“I’m not sure,” Harry said._ _

__Remus stopped. Turned. “Excuse me…?”_ _

__“Those stairs weren’t here before. That bloody statue conjured them.”_ _

__“Alright. So where’s the exit?”_ _

__Harry paused. “Uh,” he said. “Well, I don’t actually know…”_ _

__“You don’t actually know,” Remus repeated incredulously._ _

__“Well, Fawkes swooped down and flew us all back up the slide—I mean the pipes. We just returned the way we came.”_ _

__“I see,” Remus said. “Would this not have been important information to impart prior to our journey down here?”_ _

__Harry felt his cheeks heat. “I didn’t think that far ahead,” he mumbled with a guilty shrug._ _

__Remus looked towards the staircase. It could lead anywhere. He turned back to Draco, whose breathing had slowed. “Don’t sleep,” he told the boy, touching his shoulder._ _

__“I’m not,” the boy argued quietly, his words rounded with fatigue._ _

__They didn’t have time to go exploring for an alternate exit, Remus thought. “Alright,” he conceded. “Harry, follow me,” he ordered, taking the steps two at a time. Draco’s body floated obediently behind him, with Harry at the rear._ _

__It took roughly five flights of stairs to reach a landing—it was hard for Harry to tell because there were no breaks in the stairs. Harry felt his legs burn but was pleased that he could match Remus’s speed._ _

__“I’m going to see where we are,” Remus said quietly. “You stay here with Draco.”_ _

__“Oh, come on,” Harry argued. “It’s still Hogwarts—”_ _

__“Yes, it’s still Hogwarts, but we don’t know where that statue was designed to follow. This could be a secret doorway leading directly to the Great Hall, and we can’t let others discover us and start asking questions,” he said with a nod to Draco floating behind him._ _

__“You’re forgetting something,” he said hotly. “You can’t open the door from the other side without Parseltongue. If you leave, you can’t get back to us.”_ _

__Remus hesitated. Harry was right._ _

__“Let’s just go,” Harry urged. He didn’t like how quiet Draco remained._ _

__Remus followed Harry’s gaze and noticed Draco had lost another shade of colour. He nodded at Harry, and creaked the door open. He strained the remnants of wolf hearing he had while man, and could not hear anyone nearby. He opened the door fully, stepped out and flicked his wand, bringing Draco to his side quickly. Harry followed suit, and closed the door behind him._ _

__The doorway they had just exited disappeared from view. They were standing in a darkened hallway, a heavy tapestry of the Forbidden Forest and eyes peering from the dark hung from the wall like a warning. Remus swore. “We’re near Snape’s quarters,” he whispered. Of course the ruddy statue would first report to the Head of Slytherin. He strode as fast as he could without running down the corridors, knowing if they were caught here they would not be able to explain it._ _

__Harry snickered and carefully remembered the many turns navigating back to the main part of the castle. He wanted to be able to return here with Ron and find Snape’s quarters. He wasn’t sure what they would do, but he hated the man so deeply that even just knowing where he slept felt like some minor triumph._ _

__Harry begun recognizing the hall, noticing the Potions classroom further west._ _

__“Here,” Remus hissed, darting into an empty classroom with Draco hovering behind. Harry rushed to follow and heard the door click behind him._ _

__Remus flicked his wand, commanding his magic to maneuver the student desks together and laid Draco on top._ _

__“Keep him awake," Remus directed to Harry. He looked up and noticed the first spot of good luck in the day: a window, a foot tall and pressed flush against the ceiling, its width running the length of the wall. He swished his wand in an outward arc and the window opened. “It’ll be faster if I fly there,” he said to Harry. “Keep the window open for me.”_ _

__“What--?” Harry reacted._ _

__Remus smirked. “You didn’t think that after my best friends learned to become animagi that I was never interested? That having a secondary form that reflected who I was, one that I could control, might be something I would want to learn?” And with that, the man shrank. It all happened so quickly, his face pulling forward and his shoulders crushed and melted down, his legs dwindling into rope-like figures, and a feather pattern emerging across his skin. With a final pop, the feather pattern raised against his skin and borne itself as true feathers. The red-tail hawk spread his wings and launched himself into the air, an arrow._ _

__Remus knew that had he walked as a man through the castle, too much would slow him down. Walking a normal pace, the manipulation of moving stairs, students professors ghosts or, Merlin forbid, Peeves demanding his time. Then he would stride across the castle grounds, out in the open where numerous outdoor classes could see him approach Hagrid’s hut. Where Hagrid himself might spot him and question him. No; flying a straight line to the hut in an anonymous form would be much quicker. He could carry the potion jar in his talons and fly back, and no one would blink at the sight of an expensive “mailing bird” carrying a package. He just had to make sure not to startle Fang._ _

__Harry felt a pang of self-pity. He knew so little about Remus, when the man meant so much to him. He forced himself to put the feeling away. He needed to focus on Draco.  
“You really saw him?” he asked, moving to stand at his side._ _

__Draco opened his eyes. “Yeah,” he said quietly, and shivered. “So cold,” he complained._ _

__“Well yeah, you threw away your robe like a moron,” Harry chided with a smile. He took off his robe and used it like a blanket to cover the boy, tucking in the edges under his arms. The scarlet normally suited the tanned complexion of Harry’s body, but with the blood loss leaving him unnaturally pale it stood out stark and wrong._ _

__Draco said nothing. Harry was anxious, having never known Draco not to rise to the bait. “I can’t find him,” Draco whispered finally._ _

__“That’s a good thing,” Harry said, projecting a confidence he didn’t feel. “That means it’s dormant again.”_ _

__“I can’t tell,” Draco said, shivering. “What if he’s just waiting?”_ _

__“What would be the strategy in waiting?” Harry countered._ _

__“Maybe it’s not strategy,” Draco said. “Maybe he’s awake and needs a trigger to react. Like the diary with ink. It couldn’t communicate on its own volition until it was given liquid to write with.” Draco took a deep breath. “What if it finds ink?”_ _

__“It could just be sleeping again…” Harry felt less sure than ever._ _

__“But if it’s as awake as the diary, and it becomes triggered – Harry, this thing will have access to the power of the Switch.”_ _

__Harry’s breath caught._ _

__“The moment it’s triggered, it will have power that no other Horcrux has had. Unlimited magic within a wizard’s body. Combined with the power it has by its own nature…Harry, it could destroy me. It could maintain permanent control, never requiring a trigger again. It could join the Dark Lord, it could win the war.”_ _

__“And I’ll just sit back eating licorice wands I suppose?” Harry said, the joke coming out in Draco’s characteristic drawl. “Listen to me carefully. I have the power of the Switch too. I will not let that thing in my body do you harm. I swear.”_ _

__Draco studied Harry’s eyes for a long time, trying to judge his sincerity. “You’re the only one who could match his power,” Draco said. “If he ever takes over…you need to stop him before he hurts my family.”_ _

__“I promise,” Harry said quietly._ _

__Draco reached his right hand out from under the warm robe, taking Harry’s wrist. “Stay with me,” he whispered._ _

__“I’m not going anywhere,” Harry whispered back._ _

__Remus swooped in, the muscles in his shoulders working hard to flap against the dead air so he could gently deposit the vial in his talons to a nearby desk. He landed on the floor and transformed back into a man._ _

__“Hagrid was teaching a class,” Remus explained as he uncorked the vial. “Easy in, easy out.” He moved to Draco’s side and slid an arm under the boy’s shoulders, helping him sit up and holding the vial to his lips._ _

__“I can do it,” Draco insisted indignantly, batting a kitten-strength hand at the man’s offending arm. He was embarrassed that Mr. Lupin would treat him like an infant who could not feed itself or sit up on its own. Especially in front of Harry._ _

__For a split second, Remus wanted to simply say “Alright!” and remove his supporting arm and let the boy fall; but it was an ugly thought, and Remus quickly squashed it. Instead, he lowered the vial from Draco’s face. “Alright, then here, take the potion,” he said, offering a compromise to soothe the boy’s ego: he would continue to hold the boy steady, but would allow Draco to handle the vial himself. Remus prepared himself to use wandless magic to catch the vial should Draco’s grip fail him._ _

__Draco scowled, sensing the man was placating him rather than acknowledging he had erred. He took the vial and was shocked at how heavy it seemed. The weight of it dipped his hand, and he had to concentrate to keep his hold on the warm glass. He lifted it halfway to his lips and had to pause as the world spun, and then finally drank the potion down. Immediately he felt heat return to his limbs. He closed his eyes and sighed as the hundreds of dull aches across his muscles eased and withdrew, as his mind cleared and strength flowed through him. He realized he had been leaning back into Remus’s arm, and sat up straight so he could pretend he never needed it at all._ _

__“You’ll need sleep,” Remus said. “I don’t think it’s reasonable for either of you to return to class today. You should both try to nap before lunch if you can. Harry, if you wish to train more after lunch, I will oblige, but I think you would benefit more by resting after your struggle. Mr. Malfoy, you are to remain in bed as much as possible today.”_ _

__“Yes, sir,” Harry said for them both._ _

__Draco took Harry’s robe, which had bunched around his legs when Remus sat him up, and carefully slid off the desks to stand next to Harry. He was amazed at how alert yet exhausted he felt._ _

__Remus nodded and turned to leave. “Uh, sir?” Harry started. Remus turned. “Before you go,” Harry said quickly, “Could you check something for me?”_ _

__“Of course, Harry,” Remus said, curious._ _

__“Remember I said that last night I used a mind altering potion…?” Harry started uncomfortably. “In that state, I used magic in a way I haven’t learned. It was the Switch’s power. Could you find out if I’ve damaged Draco’s magic?”_ _

__Remus wished Harry would tell him the whole story, but if it wasn’t going to be shared organically then Remus would not push for it. He took out his wand and cast a linked detection charm. Harry felt a cool tingling sensation rush up and down his spine and the tip of his nose and fingers itch. The feelings were gone when Remus lowered his wand._ _

__“All seems perfectly intact, Harry,” Remus reassured him. “You must not have done anything terribly remarkable.”_ _

__“I suppose… but I just needed to know for sure,” Harry said, feeling stupid and guilty._ _

__Remus smiled at him. “Stop worrying and get some rest.”_ _

__“Right,” Harry mumbled, watching Remus leave. He turned to Draco. “Are you okay to walk? I need to get you to Slytherin.”_ _

__“I’m not going to my House,” Draco said firmly._ _

__“But…You’ve got to be exhausted?”_ _

__“I am,” Draco admitted. “But I don’t trust myself to sleep. Not alone. Not when we don’t know if sleep is ink.” He unfurled the borrowed robes and draped them over Harry’s shoulders, his hands holding it at the clasp and using it to pull Harry closer to him. After gently compelling Harry a step towards him, he let his hands rest on the boy’s chest, still holding the clasp. “Stay with me. Guard my sleep, just to make sure.”_ _

__Harry felt his heart pound at the possessiveness Draco showed in his touch. “Alright,” Harry said, wishing he knew what to do with his hands. “But we can’t stay here.”_ _

__“I can’t take you back to Slytherin,” Draco said._ _

__“I know,” Harry smiled. “They rioted over a floo call, I can imagine what they’d do if you brought me in to sleep.”_ _

__Draco smiled back, remembering._ _

__Harry did not recognize it as his own smile. It was something so Draco, sass and wit and something achingly beautifully _him_. Harry made a quick decision. “I’ll take you to Gryffindor.”_ _

__“You’re joking,” Draco said, a flutter in his chest._ _

__“You need to sleep,” Harry insisted. “And I need to watch over you.” He placed his hands over Draco’s and held them to his chest briefly before pulling away. “Let’s go.”_ _


	13. Gambling

The two walked quickly down the halls. In the middle of proper class time, Hogwarts was eerily quiet. Once they stood in front of the Fat Lady, Harry shot Draco a look. “You didn’t let me hear the Slytherin password, so I’m not going to--”

“Caramel Carousel,” interrupted Draco. The Fat Lady rolled her eyes at her abused duty and swung open. 

“How…?”

“When I snuck in here as you, two Gryffindor girls very obligingly shared the password.”

“Git,” Harry laughed softly. He stepped through the circular opening and put a finger to his lips, signalling Draco to remain quiet. Draco nodded understanding and followed close behind.

Their feet padded nearly silent in the cramped, cave-like entrance hall. Harry led Draco to the end, just before the hall poured into the common room. They were still shadowed from sight. Harry put a hand to Draco’s chest and gently pushed him against the rough wall. He paused, indulgently letting himself thrill at Draco’s permission. Taking out his wand, Harry concentrated and closed his eyes. He breathed deeply. When he looked up, he saw the magic had positively responded to his call: Draco wore the Disillusionment charm. “Wait,” he whispered. 

“What’s the plan?” Draco anxiously, more breath than voice.

Harry gave a wolfish grin. “Dunno,” he replied in a low hush. “Depends who’s in there.” He stepped aside and strode into the common room. Draco shook his head ruefully. He was both impressed and unnerved by Harry’s ability to improvise a plan, when he himself was used to deliberate, careful calculations.

Three seventh year girls sat on the couch. Harry recognized Katie Bell, but didn’t know the other two very well. The three of them appeared to be working on a joint Potions assignment. 

“Katie,” Harry greeted as he approached. “Can I talk to you for a sec?”

“Sure thing, Harry,” the dark haired girl said. She had been slicing some sort of bean into paper thin portions. She set aside the cutting board and silver blade and walked up to him. Conspiratorially, he took her elbow and pulled her a step away from the group. 

“Dumbledore visited my muggle aunt and uncle,” Harry lied. “He explained to them what happened to me, how this Switch might be permanent, and he says they’re in a right panic.”

“I’ll bet!” Katie said sympathetically.

“I need to floo call them and show them I’m alright. But it’s a sensitive situation. Could you get your friends to go upstairs and give me some privacy? It wouldn’t be for long. Maybe ten minutes.”

“Of course,” Katie said. 

Harry smiled. “Thanks, Katie. I owe ya.”

“Don’t mention it,” Katie smiled. “I’d want privacy for something like that, too. I think it’s ridiculous that we don’t have a separate floo room. It’s a basic amenity. Did you know that both Hufflepuff and Slytherin have private floos? Why not the two towers?” 

“It’s so weird,” Harry agreed.

“Well, don’t worry about us. We’ll just stay upstairs. No point in moving everything twice. And then you won’t have to rush.”

“You don’t have to stay up there,” Harry started to argue, feeling guilty.

“It’s fine,” Katie said. She smiled and returned to her classmates. “Oi, girls! We gotta go upstairs.” 

“What?” one girl scowled. “Why.” A statement, a demand for answers rather than a question.

“Harry needs a private floo call,” Katie explained.

The girl rolled her eyes and muttered under her breath, “He’s a bloody orphan, who does he have to call…”

“Andrea!” Katie snapped.

“Whatever. Fine.” Andrea started to collect the roots and leaves she was preparing. “Just because he’s the Chosen One doesn’t mean we should have to bend over backwards for him.” She stood up and stomped up the stairway to the girls dormitories. Harry flicked the V in her direction.

“Ignore her,” the other girl said, looking directly at Harry. Her scarlet hijab matched her lipstick, and her eyes were penetrating. “She speaks from pain, and pain only knows itself.”

“I think you’re too kind, Tahreem,” Katie said, still checking the staircase where Andrea had stormed away. She sighed and looked back at her classmate. Tahreem had been carefully ordering their notes and source material, and now stood. Katie picked up her tray with the bean slices and the two began up the girl’s stairs. “Good luck,” Katie said to Harry over her shoulder.

Harry smiled and gave a goofy little wave at them as they left. He waited, listening to their footsteps until he couldn’t hear them anymore. He returned to the entrance hall. Despite knowing exactly where to look, his eyes still had to focus hard to catch a trace of the Slytherin against the wall. “We’re clear,” he said. Trusting Draco to follow him, Harry walked up the boy’s stairway. 

Stepping into the sixth year boy’s dorm, Harry turned to face Draco. He took out his wand and concentrated on breaking the Disillusionment charm. 

When nothing happened, Draco snickered in nervousness. “Oh, great,” he said with a quiet laugh.

“Shut up,” Harry said, unable to stop smiling. He made himself relax and not think about the fact _Draco Malfoy was about to be in his bed._ When he finally cleared his mind, Draco’s features crystalized back into focus and he was no longer Disillusioned.

“So…you already know this one’s mine,” Harry said, motioning to his bed and walking towards it. His heart was beating so hard that he could feel his blood move in his wrists. “When the curtains are drawn around the bed, it becomes soundproof,” he explained. As Draco approached, Harry self-consciously moved to stand at the opposite side of the bed. “So we can talk without anyone overhearing. And we won’t hear them either, so you won’t wake up if you’re a light sleeper.”

Draco took off his tie and smiled teasingly. “So I’ll just casually toss this on the floor so your bedmates think you’re shacking up with a Slytherin…”

“Nope,” Harry said, walking back over to Draco and reaching for the tie. Draco arched his hand out of the boy’s reach.

“Oh come on,” Draco goaded, a wicked glint in his eye, taking a step back and thrilling at the playfully predatory look on Harry’s face. “Lemme just wrap it around the doorknob and conjure a “Do Not Disturb” sign…” Harry’s eyes flashed with joyful challenge.

Harry made a bolting maneuver to capture the tie, and Draco laughed and backed away. Harry, seeing the direction Draco was unknowingly headed, pressed forward with a fake lunge designed to keep Draco moving back. Sure enough Draco’s knees hit the back of Neville’s bed and Harry leaned in to take the tie. Draco let himself fall back, quickly ducking the hand with the tie behind him and letting it be pinned safely between him and the bed.

Harry fell with him. His weight was heavy and secure against the Slytherin’s smaller frame, and he pushed himself up slightly with his right hand. Knowing that body’s secrets, Harry reached out and tickled just under the boy’s lowest rib. With a gasp, Draco burst out laughing and tried to squirm away. “Give it up,” Harry said, fingers following.

“Make me,” Draco panted. They wrestled, Draco writhing under him and helplessly laughing, nearly losing the tie to Harry’s serpentine strikes.

Sudden footsteps and conversation made both boys freeze. They jolted onto Harry’s bed and Harry drew the curtains, but the footsteps passed them to the seventh year’s floor above.

“That was close,” Draco said, still feeling a phantom touch of Harry’s hands linger over his skin.

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, wishing they could have kept going, the feel of Draco beneath him haunting his senses. “I guess you win,” Harry admitted. 

“So I can put this anywhere?” Draco said.

“Yep.” Harry thought he was calling Draco’s bluff. Draco obviously didn’t want to get caught in Gryffindor. But the way Draco smiled made Harry hesitate.

Draco imagined blindfolding Harry, and felt a sly smile curl his lips. “Alright,” he said, forcing his body to calm. He took Harry’s pillow and wrapped the silk loosely around one end, using a sticking charm to keep it in place. It looked like a Christmas present, the red pillow cover with a green and silver ribbon edging the left. “I’m claiming my side of the bed,” he told Harry. “Explain that to your friends!”

Harry laughed. “And how long do I have to keep it like that?”

“Oh, _forever,_ ” Draco insisted. “I’m very territorial.”

Harry took his shoes off and tucked them under the bed. Draco copied him, noting that he could easily reach for them without disturbing the curtain. He sighed, not wanting to think about when they’d have to leave. He sat on the edge of the bed, his back to Harry, realizing soon he would have to sleep…and that he might not wake up.

Harry noticed Draco’s shoulders tighten. It made him anxiously wonder if Draco was having second thoughts about staying. He suddenly didn’t know what to say…Are you okay was so inappropriate after what he’d just been through. Harry sat down, feeling awkward. 

“New plan,” Draco said, overly-cheerful. He turned to face Harry with a strained smile. “I could just begin a steady diet of Pepper-up potion. Who needs sleep, anyway?”

“I wish it was me going through this,” Harry said quietly. “It’s my body putting you in danger.”

Draco swallowed. “If it was you going through this, we’d never—” he paused, unsure how to phrase his feelings. He shook his head. “I’d rather have you not hating me,” he finished lamely.

“I’m not going to let anything happen to you,” Harry said firmly. “That thing in your head should be dormant again. If it’s not…I will tear it out before it does anything.”

Draco smiled softly. “Just don’t turn me muggle by doing it, okay?” Draco would rather die than live without magic. Normal casting could never do what Harry suggested, and forcing the Switch’s power would have devastating consequences to Draco’s magical abilities. 

“Sleep won’t trigger it,” Harry said. 

“We don’t know that,” Draco said, quiet stubbornness not to substantiate the point but to validate the fear behind it.

“Sleep is shutting down,” Harry said, wanting Draco to believe. “A trigger is a stimulus.” He held Draco’s gaze, and was struck once again at the unnerving sensation of seeing his own eyes watching him from another’s mind. “Come on,” Harry said, leading by example and laying down. “You need to rest.”

“I know,” Draco said. He hesitated, fear sharply nipping at his reason. “I just really don’t want to,” he grumbled, moving the blanket aside and crawling under. Harry smiled. “Get in proper,” Draco chastised. Harry rolled his eyes and moved so he was also under the blankets. It felt a lot more intimate to share this warmth, to be swathed together. He struggled to keep his movements and his face casual.

“Tell me a story.”

“What?” Harry was sure he hadn’t heard correctly.

“I’m trying to be brave. I know I have to sleep, and it can’t be when I’m alone in my bedroom where no one can help me if things go wrong.” Draco smirked. “That’s the point of all this,” he motioned around him and tucked his hand back under the blanket. “But I can’t stop thinking of what could happen. Distract me. Relax me.” 

Harry’s mind raced. Never in memory had he been read stories; maybe as a toddler by his parents, but he didn’t have any knowledge to go by. He instead turned to movies that Dudley had chosen, and Harry had been allowed to watch. The longer he took to think of something, the more self-conscious he became about choosing something cool. It had to be a story he knew well, something intelligent and mature, something preferably long…

He grinned. It was a gamble, but he was pretty sure it was the best choice.

“Okay,” Harry began. “A long, long time ago, in a galaxy far away…”

And so Harry recited the opening sequence to Star Wars. Draco was stunned with the idea of space travel, and asked dozens of questions about how the magic of Astronomy would be affected if you could change your position to the stars so dramatically. Harry decided that the next trip to Hogsmeade he would have to go into Florish and Blotts and see if there were any theoretical books discussing the effects of magic and space exploration and buy a copy for Draco. However excited and inquisitive Draco became over space travel, he was utterly shocked at the idea of aliens. To him, life within space was found by the movement of the planets or the birth of a star. Sentient, biological creatures entirely separate from the Earth’s limits and structures was mind-blowing.

Then Harry described the Force.

“A completely new form of magic?” Draco furrowed his brows, thinking. “Not just a new spell. A new method of creating spells. A new conduit for spells. Great Morgana, do you realize how that would affect absolutely everything?” 

“Do you want to hear this or not?”

“I can’t believe this is a muggle story…”

“I could read aloud from one of our textbooks if you insist on something wizarding--”

“That was a compliment, not a criticism!” Draco insisted. 

Harry chuckled, and returned to the story. When he got to the part introducing the droids, he had trouble describing them accurately. The term “robot” meant nothing to Draco. “Droids are mechanical, like the Hogwarts Express or Ministry cars. They’re man-made. But droids have self-awareness and intelligence. They’re programmed with certain rules and abilities.” 

Draco’s eyes lit up with understanding. “They’re golems made of metal.”

“…Yeah,” Harry risked, pretending to know what a golem was. He went on to describe the interaction Luke had with Leia’s hologram. 

“I know why you chose this story,” Draco said, voice low and smiling.

“Oh?” Harry asked. 

“Yeah,” Draco whispered, luring Harry to lean in a little closer to hear him better. “We’re the droids.”

Harry quirked his head to one side. “What makes you say that?”

“Manipulated by men with very specific designs for what they want us to be,” Draco began, studying Harry’s reaction. “And you, R2, an impulsive little shit who doesn’t give a fig about the rules, and has an unswerving dedication to doing what he thinks is right. And me, the more dignified—”

“—pompous,” Harry teased.

“—more logical and more careful creature, aware of the bigger picture.” Draco took a deep breath. “And although R2 is friends with Luke, his friends only understand some of what he says. C3 is the only one, despite their constant fighting, who understands him completely.”

Harry was startled. “My friends understand me,” he said quietly, confused. 

“Parts of you,” Draco agreed gently. “But not all of you. How can they when you hide yourself from them?” Draco reached out and put his hand to Harry’s chest. “I know you. I know your anger, I know your shame. I know what you haven’t let anyone else know.”

Harry swallowed. “Yeah, that’s true…” He prayed Draco was too tired to notice Harry’s heart speed up at his touch. The urge to wrap his hand over Draco’s was a reverberation through his entire body. He pretended not to notice that Draco kept his hand there, like it was no big deal. 

And suddenly, Harry knew who he would be for Halloween.

He smiled, his new secret hiding in the corners of his mouth. Harry was no longer anxious about making the story just right and started to have some fun with it, emphasizing R2D2’s expletive bleeps and impersonating Draco’s snottiest _‘My father will hear about this’_ moments in C3PO’s voice. It made Harry’s heart warm to see Draco laugh and thoroughly enjoy the story, and to watch the moment of trust win out when Draco finally let himself sleep.

_Strange…how a minute ago, that face was his. And now, asleep, without his energy showing through, it’s somehow mine again._

It was hours before Draco woke. The memory of fear physically jolted him, and he squeezed his eyes shut as he frantically scoured every web of consciousness for signs of the Horcrux.

“Hey,” Harry said softly, wrapping a warm hand over his shoulder. 

“He’s not here.” The relief cracked his voice. Draco cleared his throat, trying to blame the infraction on waking up. He looked at Harry, who was much closer than he had realized. “You were right.”

“Say that again,” Harry teased. 

“I know you’ve never heard those words before,” Draco drawled, stretching. 

“I was right,” Harry repeated. “Which would make you…?”

“A bloody saint for putting up with you.” Draco ran his hand over the wooden frame of the bed, activating the clock. He felt his stomach plummet. “It’s almost dinner,” he said, shocked.

“Yep.”

Draco searched Harry’s eyes but only found amusement. “This is serious. Most of Gryffindor will be here, how am I supposed to get out?” 

Harry sat up and reached over the side of his bed. “I took this out of my trunk while you slept,” Harry said, brandishing the Invisibility Cloak. “So we’d have our get-away plan all setup and ready.”

Draco sat up sharply and stared at the cloak. “You--” He paused. “That’s…How long have you had that?!” 

“Year One,” Harry admitted, grinning at Draco’s indignation.

“I’ve pestered Father for years to get me an invisibility cloak!” He hissed. “And you’ve had one since _Year One?!_ ” He picked it up and examined the cloth. “Where did you get it?”

“It was my dad’s,” Harry said proudly.

Draco squinted at the cloak. It was the most expensive looking version he had ever seen. “How powerful is it?”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t be daft,” Draco said. “How long does it work?”

“Always,” Harry said, confused.

Draco looked at Harry. That’s not possible… “Always?” He repeated. Harry nodded. Draco felt the smoothness, and couldn’t see any seams or stitching. “What are its perceptive limitations?” Seeing Harry’s blank face, Draco rephrased, “Does it only make you invisible to witches and wizards, or to muggles and animals too?”

“It makes you invisible to everyone. Not even ghosts can see you.”

Draco’s breath caught. “You’re certain?”

“Why would I lie?” 

“It’s just…” Draco paused, collected his thoughts. “Harry, like I said, I’ve wanted one of these things for years. I’ve done my research on them. I know the best, I know the ones not to waste your time with. I know what’s out there. What you describe doesn’t exist.” Except in legend, he thought, remembering the Deathly Hallows. _But…there’s no way…_ “How did you get this?”

Harry shrugged. “Dumbledore gave it to me, my first Christmas at Hogwarts, with a note saying he had borrowed it from my father and it was time it was returned to me.”

Dumbledore’s interest in it spiked Draco’s suspicion. “Did he tell you anything more about it?”

“Just that it’s been in my family for generations…”

Draco shook his head. “That’s not normal!” _Could I honestly be holding one of the Deathly Hallows?_ “Harry, a very good, expensive invisibility cloak can last thirty to fifty years. That’s top of the line, and only a recent development. Through history they could only be charmed to last up to a year and a day.”  
“So…my dad is awesome,” Harry concluded.

“I think it’s my time to tell you a story,” Draco said. He recounted the tale of the Three Brothers, and at the end held up Harry’s cloak in reference. “Your cloak does what no other can. It lasts generations. It is not limited in scope or duration. It can work against ghosts, which means it can truly hide you from Death’s eyes. Harry…” Draco stared in wonder at the cloak. “I think this is a Hallows.”

“Wait—no--” Harry stumbled over his words, his thoughts hurtling and creating emotional whiplash. “No.”

“What do you mean, ‘no’?!”

“If this were what you say it is, and it was rightfully my father’s, but Dumbledore had it…no.”

Suddenly, Draco realized where Harry’s thoughts had led him. “James Potter would have asked for it back when he and his family went into hiding.” He paused. “If it was _borrowed_.”

They stared at each other.

“If my dad had this the night Voldemort found us…If it’s as powerful and unique as you say…We could have hidden. My parents would still be alive.”

“There is absolutely no circumstance in which your dad could have known what this was, willingly lent it, and not demanded it back when his family was in danger,” Draco said. 

“We’re jumping to conclusions,” Harry backtracked, shaking his head. “Dumbledore may be…a little twisted, perhaps. But he’s not a dark wizard. He wants to defeat Voldemort, he’s ultimately a good man.” 

Draco snorted.

“He is,” Harry repeated. He has to be, he thought to himself. “He wouldn’t keep the cloak if it could save them. He wouldn’t just let them die.”

“He’d let _you_ die,” Draco reminded harshly.

Harry winced. “Because of the Horcrux,” he said. “It’s justified. I hate that he’s planning my death like I’m a sacrificial lamb who doesn’t require an explanation. But he may be ultimately right.”

“I don’t accept that.”

Harry smiled. “We’ll see, I guess,” he said softly.

A fiercely protective yearning howled through Draco and his right fist clenched in reflex. He forced himself to stop ruminating on how to save Harry – _not enough information, not the time._ “Does Remus know his old friend’s family heirloom was returned to you?”

Harry wanted to reply yes automatically, but stopped. Did he ever tell Remus about his cloak? “Uh…”

“Thought so,” Draco replied smugly. He added sweetly, “You wouldn’t object to telling him, would you?”

“Course not,” Harry said.

 _Trap set,_ Draco thought. Remus could confirm this did belong to James Potter, and he would also understand Draco’s suspicions. “Okay,” he said, willing to let the subject drop for now. “So you say it ‘always’ works? I just put it on -- no charm to set it, nothing?”

“Pretty much,” Harry said. “I’ll lead us out. Ron and Hermione usually walk with me, so part way to the Great Hall I’ll pretend I forgot something and double back. We’ll go to an empty classroom, you can give me the cloak, and we’ll split off.”

“It’s like you actually thought things through.”

“I do that sometimes.”

The boys smirked at each other and Draco drew the cloak around him. 

“Don’t forget your shoes,” Harry said, unable to see what Draco was doing. He slipped his own shoes on and ran a hand through his hair. “Okay…let’s go.” 

Harry drew back the curtain. Only Neville was in the dorm this close to the start of dinner. He sat on the edge of his bed, concentrating on something in his hand. He looked up when he heard Harry emerge. 

“Was wondering when you’d be up,” Neville said. “Seamus was wagering you skipped class to wank your new equipment all day.”

“That guy is really fixated,” Harry muttered. “You comin’ down for dinner?”

“Yeah, in a bit,” Neville said. He held out his hand sheepishly, the Remembrall a cloudy red. “I’m just forgetting something.”

“Oh,” Harry said. “Yeah, sure thing. See ya down there,” he smiled at his friend. Neville gave an anxious smile back before looking down at his hands and concentrating.

Harry went to the door and made sure to leave it open long enough for Draco to slip through before closing it. He heard someone coming up the spiral stairs—the delicate clicking that women’s shoes made. He had only taken a few steps down before the person rounded the corner and he could see who it was. 

Ginny.

“Hey,” he said. 

“Hey,” she smiled. Her steps slowed as she approached him. “I was hoping to catch you.”

“Oh?” Harry stopped as they met on the stairs. She looked up at him from the lower stair, her hair spread prettily across her shoulders.

“About breakfast this morning…” 

Harry tried to think back. Too much had happened that day. “Breakfast?” he asked apologetically.

“…Ron asked you to say you didn’t have feelings for me…”

_Uhoh._

“…and you left instead.” Ginny gathered her courage and carefully stepped with just her toes onto the stair Harry stood on. 

She was so close. _Too close._ The fabric of her robes kissed his own, her heat radiated, and if he so much as inhaled too deeply he was in danger of touching her. He tried to back up a step, but Draco blocked his path, refusing to allow Harry a passive get-away.

Harry felt his eyes flutter shut. The pressing nearness of them both was too much for his senses. He was shocked at the intensity he felt, and quickly tried to control it before he humiliated himself.

“Careful, you’ll fall,” Harry murmured. If he couldn’t back away, he needed her to do it.

“Who says I haven’t already?” Emboldened by the fact Harry hadn’t moved away from her, Ginny smiled and added, “Meet me after dinner at the Astronomy Tower. Don’t make me wait.”

“S-sure,” Harry hesitantly agreed.

She held his gaze as she gracefully stepped down. Harry watched her turn and descend the stairs, quickly disappearing around the bend. He needed to talk to Draco. Now.

He forced himself to walk the stairs unhurried, not wanting to catch up with Ginny. When Harry reached the landing, he saw Ron and Hermione waiting for him on one of the couches. They stood up to greet him, but before they could say anything he cut them off. “Sorry guys, left something in class, see ya at dinner.”

He rushed towards the exit hall before either of them could protest. Making sure to leave the portrait open long enough for Draco to get out, Harry beelined for the first empty classroom he found. He waited inside, and the door closed on its own – Draco, of course.

Draco removed the cloak, and carefully folded it over one arm. He held it close to his chest. “So…Little Ginny Weasley.” Harry stared at him helplessly. Draco tried to keep the venom from his voice. “You like her.”

Harry swallowed hard. He knew Draco had a problem with the Weasleys, but had hoped he would overcome it for him. _Why would I think that? Because I want to matter to him? How pathetic._ “Yeah, I do,” he said simply.

“I thought--” Draco stopped mid-sentence. 

“You thought what?” Harry encouraged, voice soft with hope.

Draco shook his head. _Do not admit it._ “I thought you had better taste.”

For a moment, Harry could swear Draco was…hurt. Is there a chance….? “It bothers you,” Harry pressed. “That I might want to date her.”

“Yes.”

“Why?” Harry breathed the word. He stared at Draco, watching him clench his jaw and almost hug the cloak. “If you have a real reason, I won’t meet with her tonight.” Harry stepped closer to Draco. “Give me a reason.” 

Draco watched Harry closely. If it had been anyone else, Draco would swear this was an opening. But knowing Harry, this could easily be more of that damned martyr complex. And Draco just didn’t know how to risk.

“I’ll give you three reasons,” he said. “Ginger, poor, Weasley.” Harry looked slapped, and Draco wanted to gut himself. “Here,” Draco held out the cloak. Harry accepted it silently. Draco couldn’t stand the look in his eyes… “Go on your date,” the Slytherin said with as much kindness as he could muster. “Have fun. Fall in love. Marry her. I won’t interfere. Just…stop asking permission to be happy.”

“I wasn’t--”

“See ya around.”

Draco fled.

At dinner, Ginny sat further down the table gossiping with her friends. Harry sat with Ron and Hermione, saying nothing, moving his food around his plate and thinking. _Draco is a flirtatious person. He’s like that with Pansy, and I know he has zero romantic feelings for her. Same with me._ Harry’s emotions tangled and snared each other violently. He was excited-anxious to meet Ginny, he was grief-anxious about Draco. He had no idea what he wanted to say to Ginny, and he knew exactly what he wished he could say to Draco-- _But Draco just got out of a relationship. He’s still dealing with that. And he most likely isn’t interested in me._ But it was the ‘most likely’ that Harry kept obsessing over.

When dinner was over, Harry left the table quickly. He thought about going into the loo to make sure he didn’t have anything in his teeth and that he looked at least semi-presentable in his slept-in clothes, but decided against it when he realized seeing Draco’s face in his reflection would not help him get ready to see Ginny. _Is Draco right, is this a date?_ A dozen questions assaulted Harry, from whether he should be bringing something to what he was wearing to whether or not this was a good idea at all.

He made it to the top of the Astronomy tower and Ginny was already there. The room was a small turret in the castle, with a wide balcony bigger than the room itself. The ceiling was painted with the Orion nebula, depicting six stellar cocoons birthing new stars. It was enchanted to repeat the miracle in slow motion. The room was dark, the only light coming from the balcony, throwing everything into shadow.

Ginny stood in the centre, backlit by the balcony. 

“Hey,” Harry said quietly, smiling. He walked up to her with a confidence he didn’t feel.

“Hey,” she said. “I’m glad you came.”

“I said I would.”

“I know,” she looked down coyly, then with only her eyes looked back up at him. “And I’m glad.” The pair stared into each other’s eyes. “Tell me why you left this morning.”

Harry gave a slow, self-mocking smile. “Because ‘I must not tell lies’,” he said. He took a deep breath. “Because I do like you.” As she smiled, he found his gaze drawn down to her mouth. He forced myself to look into her eyes again. “I just don’t know what that means.”

“I’ve always liked you, Harry,” Ginny admitted, stepping closer to him and tilting her head back to make her skin available to him. “Since learning stories about you as a child--”

Harry couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “That’s not really me though.”

“But it is,” she said, daring to cup his face with her hand. He was startled at how soft and small her hand was. “You are a symbol. I know you don’t like it, but that makes it even more perfect. The reluctant hero. Harry, I accept who you are to the world and who you are as a person. All these parts help define you, and I—I love them. I love you.”

“You--?” His reactions kept swallowing each other. Frustration about identifying him by his public image, disagreement with her premise that he was a reluctant hero (he wasn’t a hero at all)…But mostly, he felt warmth. Someone loved him. He had only ever heard those words in memory from Sirius, once. Only when spoken did he realize they echoed in a vast empty space that should have been filled with those words from various sources through life. Those words meant more to him than he consciously realized.

“I love you,” she repeated. “Always have.” Her hand travelled to the back of his head, stroking his hair and neck. “Can I kiss you? When you’re like this?”

Harry leaned in and kissed her passionately. She wrapped both arms around his neck and melted her body against his. Harry wanted to hold her waist, and felt fear percolate through his blood that he would make a wrong move. He reached out, past the fear, letting one hand support her back and the other take her waist. To his utter shock and relief…she let him. Her words began to stitch inside him, and it hurt and healed at the same time.

Sudden light filled the room, making him see the red of his eyelids. He pulled apart from her and looked around. 

Every shadow, every colour, had been replaced by varying shades of gold. He looked down at Ginny’s face, amber skin with molten gold freckles, her eyes like a jungle cat and her hair like the sun. 

“What happened?” Ginny whispered.

Harry winced, embarrassed. “I…I think it’s my fault,” he whispered back. “I’ve been experiencing accidental magic when something affects me strongly. I’m sorry.”

Ginny’s eyes grew wide. “You did this…because of me?” He ducked his face shyly. She laughed. “Harry…don’t you dare be sorry. This is beautiful.”

“You say that now, but I don’t know how to turn it back--” 

Ginny leaned forward and kissed him, and Harry let his self-blame dissolve. For a long time they kissed, and Harry felt if someone as bold, clever, and kind as her could love him then maybe he wasn’t so worthless after all.

She pulled away, smiling up at him. “Hey,” she said, as if meeting someone new in his embrace.

“Hey,” he said, a nervous laugh escaping.

“So what do we tell Ron?”

She may as well have dumped a bucket of ice water on him. Harry’s heart shuddered and he recoiled from her slightly. He had been so caught up trying to figure out what he felt for her, that he hadn’t considered the ramifications. He groaned. “I am the biggest jerk on the planet,” he muttered, letting her go.

“I have six brothers, I can promise you you’re not the biggest jerk,” she joked.

“Ginny…I care about you. I do, I really do,” he said. “But…this is what I meant when I said I don’t know what that means!” He ran both hands through his hair. “If you were just you…if you weren’t _Ron’s little sister_ …I would be dating you so fast, you have no idea.” He tried a tentative smile. She looked at him plaintively. “Fourth Year, Triwizard Tournament. Dumbledore seized what was most important to each of the contestants for the underwater challenge. For me, that was Ron. Not Sirius, not Hermione, not Cho…it was Ron. Because no matter how much I care for others, Ron is the only person who I consider my family.” He had no idea if he was making sense to her, but he was desperate for her to understand. “Ginny, I grew up as the burden. Unwanted. Until Ron. He’s my family now, and I think he could forgive me for anything—except you.” A flash from his dream, Draco, the moon, and suddenly his magic relinquished the sun. All colours returned to normal. 

There were tears in her eyes but she did not cry. “It would be hard for him, but he would want us to be happy…”

“And maybe he’d be supportive, and maybe we would never break up, and never argue. But Gin…how likely is that?” He held his hands out. “To never even argue? Because any argument would drive him to your side, and I would lose him by inches.”

“Do you love me?” She whispered. When he said nothing, she repeated more strongly, “Do you love me, Harry Potter?”

“I…Ginny, I…”

“Because if you love me, this is your only chance.”

He shook his head sadly. “I can’t say those words. Not yet. But I swear, I do care about you.”

She took a deep breath, thinking. “So you’ll let Ron dictate your life for you?”

Harry was caught off guard by her anger. “No,” he said.

“What if you fell in love with Hermione?”

Harry laughed, then realized she was serious. “I’m not--”

“ _What if,_ ” she said harshly. “Do you think he’d forgive you? You know how he feels about her, right?”

Harry wrinkled his nose. He didn’t like hypothetical games. “I think he would, in time, if he never had a chance with her,” he answered cautiously.

“So, you’d risk it for her, then.”

“That’s not what I’m saying!” he said hotly. “It’s different. I could date anyone, and he would get over himself if he disapproved. But with you? He’s your older brother, he was raised to protect you no matter what. He won’t override that. And he should never have to.” Harry sighed quietly. “Because that’s family.”

“Too bad you weren’t so insightful this morning,” Ginny spat, storming past him to the door. 

“Ginny--” 

“Don’t.”

The door slammed shut. Harry winced, and sat down at a desk. He told himself he would wait ten minutes before heading back to Gryffindor. Let her arrive without him.

*

Draco had skipped dinner, opting to summon a House Elf and have a plate brought to his room. He ate without tasting. Somewhere, somehow, he had fallen in love with Harry Potter. He felt like little more than blackened bones and dust, knowing that Harry did not feel the same. Draco kept imagining him with her, and wanted to scream loneliness for him.

Draco was walking out the door before he realized what he was doing. He turned the familiar corridors, stopping at a door he knew well. He knocked, heart aching and racing.

Blaise opened the door. Draco’s eyes were glistening wet, dark and swollen, his long lashes stuck together. Blaise didn’t say a word, just opened the door to let him in. Draco stepped inside, his mind screaming at himself _What are you doing?!_

“I don’t want to be alone tonight,” Draco said hoarsely. Blaise wrapped his arms around the boy and pulled him close. “This doesn’t mean anything,” Draco said. He shuddered, hiding his face into Blaise’s shoulder. “I just can’t be alone. Please.”

Blaise tilted the boy’s face up to his and kissed over his eyelids, down every tear track, and finally kissed him on the mouth. Draco’s mind swirled, and he felt a strange mix of guilt and unease. But the closeness was comforting, and he was too exhausted to handle another argument. 

He kissed back. 

He wondered about his options while they kissed – he couldn’t access the girl’s dorms, so Pansy was out of the question. Vince was a terrible choice, being homophobic and not good at handling emotions. Greg would ask too many questions, and would have shamed Draco for letting himself continue to grow closer to Harry. No…Blaise was the only one he could turn to. He kept kissing, all the while trying to think of a soft way to have them just lay together without any more of this nonsense and without it being a confrontation.

Swiftly, unexpectedly, Blaise swooped Draco up in a fireman’s hold. A small laugh rose from Draco, equally unexpected. He weighed so much less in Harry’s body, it was easy for Blaise to pick him up and carry him. 

Blaise laid him down in bed. Draco relaxed a notch, thinking his ex had taken the hint that he was emotionally wrecked and not in a space for sexuality. 

Blaise laid overtop of him.

“Blaise,” Draco protested, his voice muffled as demanding lips bruised against his mouth. Frustrated, he pushed up on Blaise’s chest. “Blaise!” he chastised. 

“Shh,” Blaise whispered. “It’s okay.” Strong hands took Draco by the wrists and pinned them to his sides. “It’s okay,” he murmured again, kissing Draco and lowering his hips to grind against the boy.

Draco didn’t know what to do. If he got mad, he could make a terrible situation become unthinkable. He jerked his face aside and said, “I don’t want this.” 

Blaise kissed his neck. “You need to relax.”

“Blaise,” Draco said, starting to panic. “I didn’t come for this.”

“You don’t want to be alone,” Blaise whispered. He sat up. “So get up and go now, or stay with me. And be with me.”

A part of Draco wanted to run out the door. But he was desperate to not be alone. He needed a friend.

“I can’t…” he said weakly.

“You don’t have to do a thing,” Blaise purred, removing his belt. “I’ll do all the work. You just relax. Let me take care of you.”

“I don’t…” Hot tears rolled down his face.

“Shh,” Blaise whispered. “It’ll be okay.”

*

Harry returned to Gryffindor Tower and went straight to the boys dorms. Ron sat on his bed, scribbling out a letter to Charlie. Harry smiled wistfully and moved to his friend’s side. 

“Ron?” Harry interrupted gently. 

Ron held his quill in the air. “Hey, what’s up?”

Harry shook his head. “Nothing. Just…Thanks. For being my best mate.”

Ron looked surprised and confused. “That’s a strange thing to thank me for.”

“Well, you mean a lot to me. So thanks. For being you, and for being here.”

A goofy grin spread across Ron’s face. “Right back at chya, mate.”

Harry smiled back. “Good night,” he added, turning towards his bed.

“Good night,” Ron absently called back, returning to his letter.

Harry got changed and crawled into bed, closing the curtains tight around him. He felt tinged with guilt and sadness, but he was certain he had done the right thing. He turned on his side, and saw Draco’s tie wrapped around his pillow. He smiled, stroked the length of it, and wondered if Ron really _could_ forgive him anyone else…


	14. Hush

“Oi, where are they off to?” Ron asked at breakfast, watching Hermione and Ginny walk past him and Harry to sit further down the table. Hermione gave Harry a sad, sympathetic smile and kept walking with Ginny.

“Guess they want time to themselves,” Harry said. He wondered how long Ginny would hold a grudge. He wondered if she would ever tell Ron what happened in the Astronomy tower last night. Harry shook his head. He would drive himself mental if he let himself think that way. For the first time in what felt like forever, Harry let himself simply be in Ron’s company. They talked Quidditch mostly, leaping between thoughts the way only best friends could navigate. He felt himself relax.

Until he saw Draco walk in.

This was not pristine, prissy perfect Draco. The boy who slunk into the Great Hall was more reminiscent of an anxious first year than as the Prince of Slytherin. His hair was mussed and his clothing rumpled. Draco slipped quietly into his seat next to Pansy. All his movements were small.

“What?” Ron asked, watching Harry’s grip on his silverware whiten his pale knuckles. 

“Something happened,” Harry said quietly, nodding to the Slytherin table. Ron turned to look, and groaned when he realized he was talking about Malfoy. 

“You _do_ know you’re obsessed, right?” Ron asked wearily.

Harry’s heart seized briefly. “Am not,” he muttered. But he couldn’t help watching the Slytherin table…

“I bet you can’t go a whole day without being distracted by him, talking about him, or finding reasons to be with him.” 

Harry looked back at Ron and smiled self-mockingly. “No way am I taking that bet.” They laughed, and Harry was relieved that Ron could joke with him about it.

Draco edged next to Pansy. She was shocked at his disheveled appearance. “You okay?” She asked him, combing fingers through his hair.

Draco thought wildly. _I died and came back, the Dark Lord’s Horcrux woke inside me, the Horcrux could trigger over anything now that it’s been revived from dormancy, I had my heart broken and body violated--_ “Fine,” he croaked. Pansy frowned.

“I missed you this morning,” Blaise said as he sat next to Draco. 

“Please don’t,” sighed Draco. He had hoped Blaise would sit with his other circle of friends this morning. The sight of him made Draco shrink.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” Blaise said, just loud enough to be overheard. He put his hand on Draco’s knee, and Draco jerked away from him. Blaise laughed. “Jumpy, aren’t you? Well…I guess we didn’t get much sleep.”

“Can we not do this in public?” Draco grit between his teeth, daring to look Blaise in the eye.

“Wait,” Pansy said, looking between them. “You two didn’t…?”

“Oh yes,” Blaise announced, looking like he had single handedly won the House Cup. Draco wanted to vomit.

Pansy whispered to Draco, “You told me you didn’t want to…?”

Blaise snorted. “Yeah, he finally gave that up.”

Pansy glared at Blaise. “That sounds romantic.”

Blaise laughed. “Don’t be such a buzzkill. This is a good thing, it means he and I can be together again. You know how I feel about him.”

“We aren’t together,” Draco said.

Blaise looked perplexed. “Don’t be stubborn,” he said quietly. “The only thing that kept us apart is gone now.”

Draco looked around the table, gauging who was listening. He needed Blaise and Pansy to shut up. “We’ll discuss this later.”

“I want to talk about it right now.”

“You need to learn to take ‘no’ for an answer,” Draco said.

“Is that what this is about? You saying ‘no’?” Blaise leaned into him. “You needed a push to get past your issues. Last night was the first step towards healing our relationship. When a child doesn’t want to take his medicine, you make him take it. That’s what I did last night.”

“How dare you,” Pansy whispered, furious and shocked. “How _dare_ you!” She repeated loudly.

 _Stop,_ Draco thought desperately. He couldn’t have last night dissected and laid bare for everyone to see. He could barely look at it himself. “Pansy, please,” he whispered, unable to speak any louder for the tightness in his jaw. 

“Draco isn’t a sick child, you condescending fuck!” She swore at Blaise, her shoulders raising. Eyes around the table drew to them like magnets. 

_Stop stop stop,_ Draco felt the word pound through him. He took Pansy’s elbow. “Not here,” he begged.

“It’s what he needed!” Blaise insisted.

“No, it’s what you wanted.”

 _Stop._ Suddenly every voice in the Great Hall ceased. Cutlery scraped loudly, chairs squeaked, and mouths moved – but not a voice was heard. Draco cautiously looked around him. Nobody could speak. The pressure of answering, of regaining control, was swiftly taken from him. 

He smiled gratefully.

All around him, students and professors tried to speak, testing their hearing by clinking spoons to glasses or banging on the table. They could create noise, they could hear….but they could not vocalize.

Dumbledore stood commandingly and clapped his hands three times. He held both hands out, asking for attention. Every eye turned to him, demanding he fix this immediately. Dumbledore smiled, twinkle in his eye, and slowly extended each arm to point at Harry and Draco. Smile widening, he turned each hand and crooked his pointer fingers, the symbol of “come here”.

Harry pushed his chair back, the legs clawing against the stone far louder than he had ever noticed before. He and Draco reached the Headmaster at the same time.

Dumbledore looked between both boys, raised his eyebrows questioningly and motioned his pointer finger back and forth between them. Harry shook his head, eyes wide in innocence. Draco hesitated, and caught the Headmaster watching him suspiciously. He sighed soundlessly, gave a _fuck it_ shrug and nodded. 

Remus had moved to stand over Dumbledore’s shoulder and dropped his face into one palm when Draco admitted responsibility. Dumbledore looked up at Remus. Remus let his palm scrub down his face and looked at Albus with dismay. He shook his head: _no, he had no idea how to fix this._

Dumbledore pulled his wand from his sleeve. A mass enchantment typically couldn’t be cast nonverbally, but he hoped the Elder Wand could overcome that. He concentrated more than he would admit and cast _Finite._ Nothing happened. He aimed for his throat, he aimed at Draco, a circling motion encompassing the room….no matter his efforts, the Switch remained stronger.

Draco hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath until Dumbledore lowered his wand. He felt giddy relief that he could remain insulated from his own agency for just a little longer.

Professor Trelawny rose and steadfastly went to Dumbledore’s side. She pushed his teacup towards him, beckoning him to drink. _What are you up to,_ he wondered as he quickly finished his tea. He handed her the cup, the sludge of left-over leaves cradled in the curve of the glass. 

Divination, like Potions, was primarily wandless and nonverbal by nature. Trelawny could perform her art perfectly fine without her voice. She picked up his cup and placed the saucer overtop, flipping both over and allowing the leaves to fall into the saucer. She carefully removed the cup. Divination was about receiving, interpreting, and sending messages, about becoming a vessel for spirits and prophecy to make silent voices heard. Although this was a highly unusual situation, Professor Trelawny was excited to offer assistance – she was certain she could help. Finding the best symbol in the leaves for her purposes, she pressed her thumb into it and bore the clump of soggy decay into the Headmaster’s forehead. She smeared it roughly to one side. She beamed at him and nodded.

Dumbledore opened his mouth to speak, and felt a tickle in his throat. A gust of dry leaves blew across his tongue past his lips, fluttered into the air, and dissolved when he spoke no words. He cleared his throat, and tried again. “It is of utmost importance that we remain calm.” No sound emerged, but as his lips moved the leaves dragged from his throat and billowed into the air, rustling and twirling to form written words. “This is merely a silencio charm. Though quite a strong one to affect what appears to be the entire castle.” he said, unnerved to hear only the dry tug of dirt and foliage pull from his throat and crinkle crisply. He watched the previous batch of leaves fall to the ground and disintegrate as his new words replaced them in the air. “Our only delay is that it was caused by accidental magic, which doesn’t play by normal rules. I have full confidence that we shall be chatting away by lunch time.” He felt no need to scare them about the power of the Switch. 

Dumbledore paused. His throat was sore and felt like crumbling bark. “All morning classes are suspended. Let your voice be your alarm telling you when to resume class.” 

He sat back down, looking up at Professor Trelawny, hoping she understood the need to end the charm. She leaned over him and used her finger to swipe the tea leaves to the other side of his forehead, most of them crumbling down his face at her force and leaving a dirty streak across his brow. He nodded his thanks to her.

Dumbledore turned back to the students who stood in front of him. He pointed at Harry, and made a shoo-ing motion with his hand. He pointed to Draco, and gave a firm palm-out hand motion like one does when telling a dog to stay. Draco smirked, not caring. He wouldn’t cooperate. They couldn’t make him, he had no reason to end this, he could make it last as long as he needed. He was safe.

Harry watched Draco, worried. Dumbledore repeated the shoo-ing motion to Harry, and Harry felt frustrated. He shook his head no and put a hand on Draco’s shoulder.

Draco closed his eyes. The kind, supportive touch made everything in him ache.

Dumbledore did not want to encourage their continued reliance on each other. He pointed at Harry, pointed at the Gryffindor table, and let his palm smack the table: _Now._

Harry stared at Dumbledore, and then turned his body so he stood in front of Draco instead of the Headmaster, deliberately dismissing what his old mentor wanted in favour of what Draco needed. He squeezed Draco’s shoulder, wanting the boy to look at him. With his eyes closed, he effectively cut all communication. Draco sighed and looked up. Harry gave a small smile. He raised his eyebrows questioningly and mouthed the words, _Are you okay?_

 _No,_ Draco mouthed, smiling back. He took Harry by the upper arm and turned him towards the Gryffindor table, giving him a gentle push on the back. Harry looked back at Draco, unsure, but decided to return to the table since he was literally being pushed to leave. Draco had his alert button if he wanted Harry to meet up in the Dynamics room at any point.

Dumbledore looked down either side of the staff table and pretended to hold a quill and scribble a line. Several staff members shook their heads. Minerva took out her wand and concentrated on nonverbally transfiguring her spoon into a quill, her tea into ink. It worked, but the newly-formed ink remained brown in colour. It would have to do. She got up and passed the items to the Headmaster.

Dumbledore took his napkin and charmed it to stiffen into parchment. He wrote, _Professors Lupin and Flitwick will work with Mr. Malfoy to reverse this. I want a report in one hour._ Remus shook his head. Flitwick may be the expert on charms like Silencio, but he would insist on traditional methods. That simply wouldn’t work with the Switch. He motioned for the quill.

Draco turned away as they bickered. He didn’t care who was set to work with him. It wouldn’t make a difference.

Harry was anxious to see that Hermione and Ginny had joined Ron while he had been called up to the Head table. He sat with them, and they eagerly looked to him for answers. He shrugged and shook his head. Ron mouthed the word “Malfoy”. Harry nodded. Inexplicably, Ron threw his head back and soundlessly laughed. Harry tilted his head, puzzled.

Ron looked at the confusion on his friends’ faces and tried to explain. His charades were comical and enthusiastic but nobody understood what he was trying to say. Hermione tapped him on the shoulder and gave him a quill and parchment as he pretended to suck his thumb. He stopped sheepishly and took the instruments. He wrote, _Harry has adult accidental magic and tears apart the castle and beats the stuffing out of Malfoy. Malfoy has adult accidental magic and turns into a giant baby who doesn’t want to listen to anyone around him._

They each took turns reading, and Ginny snatched the quill from her brother roughly. She underlined “tears apart the castle” and drew a giant question mark next to it.

Harry kicked Ron under the table.

Remus had convinced Dumbledore to let him work privately with Draco, but agreed that if his efforts yielded no results in an hour that he would invite Professor Flitwick to assist.

Checking his watch with a grimace, Remus walked around the Head table and motioned for Draco to follow him. 

Remus ruminated on the situation as he and Draco walked to the Dynamics room. Most children’s accidental magic could be reversed by their parents, extreme cases would involve Aurors or sometimes even Curse Breakers. But in every case, the adult’s ability to cast was never hampered. By the nature of silencio, they were forced to utilize nonverbal spells which greatly reduced everyone’s power and ability. 

Which left them with one of two options: Draco as the caster would have the intrinsic ability to reverse it, or they required outside assistance. 

On entering the classroom, Remus immediately went to his desk and pulled open a drawer for quill, inkpot, and parchment. He took his supplies to the student theatre-style desks so they could sit together and write. Draco followed blithely. 

_What will you do when you return to Slytherin?_ Remus wrote.

Draco smirked. _Whatever I want. I don’t have to answer to anybody when I can’t answer. And dismissing someone is as easy as closing my eyes._

Remus read this and responded with only two words. _Noblesse oblige._

Draco read this and paled. His father drummed those words into him since before he could talk. He viciously crumpled the paper into a tight ball and threw it at his professor. The man had the gall to simply stare at him. In that moment, Draco hated him with viscosity. Remus remained patient, staring expectantly into the boy’s eyes. The words bore through Draco’s resistance, and the boy crumpled inwardly. He couldn’t keep the charm.

 _Fine,_ he mouthed the word, miserable. He took another piece of parchment and wrote, _What do I have to do?_

They spent nearly the full hour trying to reverse the charm to no avail. Remus was running out of ideas. 

Accidental magic came from a place of deep want or need. If Draco’s subconscious desires were working against them, they would never achieve success. He tried to remember who was with Mr. Malfoy at breakfast…

_Would you like me to bring Miss Parkinson or Mr. Zambini to assist?_

Draco read the note, and instantly the parchment was in flames. Remus stumbled back, his first instinct to aim his wand, but he couldn’t cast a water spell nonverbally. He ripped a tapestry from the wall and flung it over the fire, smothering it out. Clearly, he had hit on the source of their silence. But Remus was not a therapist, and he had no idea how to get a moody teenager who didn’t trust him to open up. He returned to his desk to retrieve more parchment and a replacement quill. Sitting on the other side of Draco, in an unaffected desk, he wrote: _Perhaps Mr. Potter?_

Draco stared at the words for a moment. He wished he could say yes, he wanted to say yes. But Harry was beyond his reach, in the arms of that Weasley girl. _No,_ he mouthed, fingertips touching the name regretfully.

The door swung open and Professor Flitwick marched cheerily in. The smell of smoke drew his gaze to the burnt desk and the last acrid smolder of the tapestry. He beckoned for Draco to stand and join him in the centre of the room. 

Remus wrote quickly: _I’m going to leave you with Professor Flitwick for a while, and will return shortly._ Draco nodded numbly and rose to greet his charms professor.

Remus hurried to the Headmaster’s office. He wanted to ask Albus if he would allow Tonks to assist. An Auror with training in how to reverse extreme acts of accidental magic would be immeasurably beneficial. 

* *

The Slytherins were the first to leave the Great Hall. They had determined that House dorms would remain inaccessible throughout Hogwarts since no one could vocalize a password. They passed notes along their entire House table and en masse they rushed directly to the library. Slytherin secured access to the most comfortable and interesting room in Hogwarts for themselves. They arrived at the library so quickly that they even locked out Madam Pince.

The Ravenclaws also realized the problem; however, they were confident they could still gain entry to their dorms. The Ravenclaw doorknocker was flexible, it did not have a single set password and could accept any answer it deemed worthy of its question. They were disappointed to discover it refused to accept any answers through gestures or writing. Undeterred, the Ravenclaws laid siege to the library. They correctly assumed the Slytherins were in such a rush after breakfast that they hadn’t utilized the bathrooms. The Ravenclaws pushed written messages under the door threatening that if no one could come in then no one could come out. A first year Slytherin girl began to cry, and without their Prince, the Slytherin Head Boy and Head Girl made the decision to form a truce with Ravenclaw. 

The Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors lingered behind to finish eating. They were taken entirely by surprise when they couldn’t enter their Houses. The Hufflepuffs accepted the situation quickly and adapted, working together to raid the kitchens for pumpkin juice and snacks and sending teams to the Herbology greenhouse for plants they could smoke. The Hufflepuffs made a lovely picnic at the lake, playing trust exercises and mirror games, lounging in the dry grass or getting a little high.

The Gryffindors were not so accepting, arguing at great lengths with the Fat Lady. Two seventh year boys ended up in a fist fight with each other when one threatened to cut her open. Eventually, the Gryffindors went to the Quidditch pitch. They took the student brooms from the shed. The older students taught daring tricks to the younger, and many Gryffindors playfully showed off stunts in the air to the applause of those Gryffindors who preferred to watch the entertainment.

As the food was cleared away from the tables of the Great Hall, the remaining Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs began repacking writing implements to their schoolbags to head back to their (unknowingly inaccessible) dorms. Hermione reached for her leaves of parchment and Harry put a quick hand overtop them first. He wrote, _I’m staying here in case he needs me. It’ll be quicker that way._

Hermione felt her stomach twist up at the words. She was worried for her friend…she knew he was growing close to Malfoy, but she wondered at the intensity. Ginny rolled her eyes and stood up, waiting expectantly for the others to join her.

Ron read the note and shook his head. He grabbed the quill and began to write, _Bloody hell Harry, you’re acting as if you’re in--_ He stopped writing. Pieces he hadn’t realized his mind had been collecting clicked into place. He slowly raised his eyes from the paper and looked up at his friend. 

Harry had been reading as Ron wrote, impatient to combat any argument. But as he read and watched Ron stop, his heart skipped a beat. He felt the adrenaline hit him hard, the fear creating a baseline thump in his temples, a strange cold settle. He slowly looked up to meet Ron’s eyes.

They stared at each other, the silence telling more than either had said to the other.

An impatient tap on the shoulder from Hermione brought Ron out of the moment. He jolted and quickly flipped the page over to prevent the girls from reading. Taking a new sheet of parchment he wrote _I’m staying with Harry, keep him company._ He passed the message on along with the remains of Hermione’s supplies, keeping the used parchment with the telltale message pressed to the table. He pulled out his own quill-set and parchment, the feather shabbier and the inkpot stained and old.

Harry wasn’t sure if Ron’s discretion was a good or bad sign, but he was grateful for it.

Hermione nodded, secretly glad that the boys were both staying behind. It was easier than avoiding them while Ginny was still licking her wounds.

The girls left, and Harry and Ron watched each other appraisingly as the rest of the school filtered out.

The blank paper and ready quill were too daunting for them. When the last students left the Great Hall, Ron started drumming his fingers nervously on the table. Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore. He pulled the paper closer and wrote, _You know this is a bad idea, yeah?_

Harry was surprised to see his hand tremble as he pulled the paper towards him. He didn’t touch the quill. He pushed the paper back to Ron. The paper moved like a saw between them as both boys pushed it back and forth a few times. With a growl, Ron accepted the parchment and retook the quill. _Tell me it’s not love. Tell me it’s some stupid, irrational crush that you’ll never want to act on._

Harry read the words and felt his eyes sting. He blinked a few times to clear them. There was a heaviness in his chest that he couldn’t name. He took the quill, but could not write. He sat for a long time, just holding the quill, knowing he had to say something but couldn’t think of how to write it.

He started to put the quill down in defeat, but Ron put both hands over his, keeping the quill curled in Harry’s fingers. Ron squeezed, imploring him to try.

Harry looked up at his friend, and couldn’t read the look in his eyes. He looked back down at the paper and brought the quill to the page. _I don’t think he feels the same, so I won’t act on it. But no, it’s not just a crush._ Harry couldn’t believe he just wrote that. He couldn’t possibly give this to Ron. But of course, Ron had been reading with every stroke of the quill, and he gave a silent moan and dropped his head to the table with a loud bang.

After a few seconds Ron rose and grabbed quill and parchment. _Anyone but Malfoy! I’ll even let you have Charlie! (Please don’t date Charlie). Seriously mate…Malfoy?! Why? No!_ He shoved the message to Harry. 

_Charlie’s safe, I promise,_ Harry wrote jokingly back. He didn’t know what else to say. Trying to explain everything with Draco was hard enough when he could speak it, but Harry was not as comfortable with writing as someone like Hermione. 

When Harry took too long to add anything, Ron took the quill from his limp hand and wrote, _How can you love someone that hates me?_

The pain in that message took Harry’s breath away. He quickly began to write. _He doesn’t know you! Matter of fact, I told him you’re brilliant at chess and he was impressed. Apparently he’s real good too. Point is, he liked the first thing he really learned about you. It’s just his family teaching him which surnames are presstigous_ –Harry hesitated, not knowing how to spell ‘prestigious’, but pressed on _\--and which to avoid. His family is all about safety. Your dad loves muggles, and muggles scare the Malfoys badly. So Draco was taught to avoid your family. That’s it. If you two got to know each other, you’d probably get along famously._

Ron snorted derisively as he began reading. He glanced up at Harry skeptically a few times. Taking the quill, he pressed hard enough to tear the paper in a few spots. _Malfoy hates muggleborns. He’s a prejudiced son of a bitch. YOU CAN’T IGNORE THIS._

Harry quickly took the page back. _I thought that too, it’s not true._ Ron tried to wrestle the paper back but Harry smacked his hands away and continued. _He hates MUGGLES. I can’t remember exactly how he said it, but he thinks muggleborns are amazing, something about magic Choosing them. But he distrusts them because their loyalty is with the muggles who raised them._

Ron finally succeeded in snatching the paper away. _Oh, so racism against Group B is okay as long as he’s tolerant of Group A. Sure. He sounds great._

Harry hit the table with his fist. _If the Dursleys were all I knew about muggles, I’d hate muggles too._ He shoved the paper back at his friend.

 _No you wouldn’t._ Ron wrote stubbornly. He paused, wondering if he should comment on the Dursleys. This was the only time Harry had ever brought up his family. Ron remembered first meeting Harry, an eleven year old abandoned on the platform to find his way alone, so hungry that he bought out the entire food trolley on the train. He remembered having to break his friend out of the house in Year Two, and the frightening bars on his window. He remembered Harry running away from home the summer before Third Year, Harry’s relief at staying away for half the summer before Fourth Year, the way Harry would flinch away from touch and had only in the last two years begun to get used to it.

Not knowing what to say, Ron decided not to comment. Instead, he continued with: _You innately want to believe the best in people. You would refuse to judge an entire group based on those creeps. Malfoy doesn’t care about seeing the good in people. He gets a rise out of decrying the ‘bad’ in people, and his moral compass works by classism and prejudice. He’s scum._

Harry felt his blood heat. _That’s not true._ Ron read this as Harry continued to write, and was so infuriated that he soundless screamed obscenities. How could Harry believe that’s not true, how?!? Harry pushed the finished note at Ron. It read: _I told him this theory on how magic needs to move by both blood inheritance and spontaneous development in muggleborns, which means magic needs muggles. He listened, and he accepted it. He’s willing to accept muggles. He changed his mind after learning more. Can you?_

Ron breathed hard out his nose, his nostrils flaring and a faint whoosh of air audible. He drummed his fingers against the table wanting to create a sound, his anger a tasteless piece of gristle in his mouth. _He called Hermione a mudblood. You forgive that?_

 _We were 12,_ Harry wrote. _He was an idiot._ Harry gave a little smile as he wrote: _But now he’s a changed idiot._

Ron saw the sappy smile his friend made, saw it on his enemy’s face, and felt sick. The loud snap of his quill startled him – he hadn’t even realized he had gripped it so tightly. He dug out a replacement from his schoolbag. He scribbled in frustration, _You’re on opposite sides of a war. Is he about to defect?_

Harry wrote quickly, _He swore he won’t follow Voldemort._

 _He’s a lying sack of shit,_ Ron wrote. He barely let Harry read it before grabbing the note back to add, _He won’t go against his family._ Harry reached for the quill but Ron wouldn’t let him have it. _He’s playing you. I said this from the start, you can’t trust him. He’s a Slytherin, the lot of them are cheating manipulative soulless berks._

Harry tore the paper trying to get it away. Ron threw the quill at him, and Harry glared at his friend when he picked it up. _I was supposed to be in Slytherin._

Ron was stunned. _Were not,_ he wrote weakly. _I was there._

_Sorting Hat told me it wanted to put me there. But I begged it not to. I had to convince it._

Ron had to read the paper twice. He felt betrayed. Didn’t they tell each other everything? Ron certainly did. He could accept Harry keeping his muggle life private—but this? This was part of the world they shared, during a time they shared. And Harry wouldn’t confide in him until he could use it as ammunition? What the fuck was that about!? Ron felt foolish, felt like perhaps he didn’t know Harry as well as he had always assumed. He felt stupid for having always made Harry central to everything, when clearly Harry only gave pieces of himself. _You’re fucking broken,_ Ron wrote slowly, _I can’t believe you kept something like this from me. You don’t know how to be close to people if you can’t confide in the person you call your best mate, and if you can’t be close to people then you can’t fucking love someone. Maybe Malfoy deserves you._

Cold fury burned in Harry’s chest. Ron’s cruelty felt unwarranted, and wounded Harry deeply. He folded the note and stood, about to tuck it in his robe pocket. Ron stood up so fast his chair fell to the ground, the loud crash making Harry jump slightly. Taking advantage of Harry’s surprise, Ron seized the note. He needed to show Hermione how bad things were getting with Harry. _Hell, maybe show it to Malfoy, freak him out and make Harry so embarrassed that the whole situation would dissolve on its own._

Harry grabbed Ron’s arm, and the two struggled for the note until it tore. Each boy looked at the piece he had, trying to determine if the other was needed. Harry started to step backwards, and Ron lunged at him, shoving his own piece into his pocket with one hand and grabbing Harry by the robes with the other. The fabric tore as he dragged Harry close and boxed him hard across the ear. As Harry tipped back, Ron snatched the other half of the note from Harry’s loosened hand. 

Harry felt the crack of his knuckles against Ron’s jaw. Ron used his hold on Harry’s robes to throw the boy to the floor. Harry swiveled and gripped Ron’s ankle as he was about to race off. Ron fell loudly to the ground, his palms shredding under the stone floor as he broke his fall. With a soundless growl he kicked back at Harry, the heel of his shoe stomping the boy’s nose with a crunch like eggshells breaking. Harry recoiled automatically from the pain and shock, but scrabbled up and threw himself into Ron’s back, forcing him to the ground. The two wrestled fiercely, Ron still clutching the second stolen half of the parchment in his hand. Ron was crouched over the boy, an elbow against his Adam’s apple which allowed his hand to pin Harry’s wrist to the floor. Ron held the note high in the air with his other hand. Harry glared at the note fragment, and focused on tapping into his magic. The note turned to ash, and Ron felt it crumple into sooty nothingness. He glared at Harry, and saw his friend smirking at him. Ron was so infuriated that Harry would cheat— _just like a Slytherin._ He leaned up and struck Harry, tossing punches while cussing out Malfoy and Harry. Ron could only ever say these things when he had no voice. 

As the room spun and Harry’s ears rung, the worst pain was the fact this was Ron. Suddenly he lost any urge to fight, and he just waited for it to be over. 

Finally, Ron stood. He glared down at Harry, unnamed anger and hurt burning bright within him. 

This was all Malfoy’s fault. 

Ron spat blood beside Harry and left the Great Hall. He couldn’t believe it had come to this. He checked his pocket for the second part of their note. It remained intact. Tucking it back, he brooded on this strange form of Stockholm syndrome Harry was under while hostage in Malfoy’s body. He’d share the note with Hermione, and together they’d find a way to get through to him. 

Harry waited motionless until he heard the doors of the Great Hall close behind Ron. He peeled himself up from the floor, his blood sticking to the stones. He felt his eyes burn as tears pushed past his defenses. Not wanting to explain his condition to anyone, Harry slowly got up and made his way to the Room of Requirement. 

Harry paced in front of the Room, the only instruction he could offer it simply _I need a place to be alone._ The door opened, and Harry stepped into an adult-sized version of his cupboard. It was the last touch needed for his heart to break. He closed the door behind him, sitting onto the familiar bed and wrapped himself in his old blanket, weeping. 

* 

Remus was pleased that Dumbledore agreed quickly to requesting assistance from Tonks. He penned a quick letter to her citing that she alone was needed to reverse a case of accidental magic, and that the Headmaster’s floo would be open to her. Remus and Albus drank tea as they waited for her arrival. To pass the time, Remus had selected an ancient tome from the Headmaster’s collection titled “Magic and Cannibalism”. Dumbledore was flipping through a knitting magazine. 

It was nearly an hour before the owl reached Tonks, and she rushed to leave the Ministry. The Headmaster’s fireplace belched green flames and gritty smoke as Tonks tripped over the excessive firewood, laughing. 

“Oi, you loaded the fire up on purpose, didn’t ya?” She said, straightening her black leather military coat. Her eyes lit up when she saw Remus. She gave a little bounce in excitement and flit to his side, kissing him deeply. He let himself forget where he was and kissed her back. She pulled back and smiled to see the wonder in his face. She sat on the edge of the Headmaster’s desk, letting one leg drape across Remus’s lap. “So, what’s going on around here that you need me for?” She asked Dumbledore. 

He smiled, amused at her pixie-like antics. He had a little note already prepared for her arrival and handed it to her with two fingers, like one might hold a cigarette. Taking the card, Tonks read it over slowly. _Via accidental magic, there has been a silencio charm placed throughout the entire castle._

She whistled. “That’s pretty impressive,” she said. She looked between Remus and Dumbledore. “So where’s the student?” 

Dumbledore looked to Remus expectantly. Remus gently moved his girlfriend’s leg off his lap and stood. She jumped off the desk and followed him, giving a little wave to Dumbledore as she left. 

“It’s so weird that you aren’t talking to me,” she said, quieted by the voiceless corridors. “I mean, usually by now I would have had to tell you at least three times not to call me Nymphadora, and you’d have set your cute little mouth in that stern professor voice as you tell me how dreadfully serious it is that I had to be called down here…” He smiled at her and took her hand, kissing the back of it briefly before holding it as they walked. “I could get used to this,” she teased. 

He led her to the Dynamics room, where poor Professor Flitwick had left an enormous chalk message along the blackboard: _I Give Up, He’s All Yours._ Malfoy sat in the professor’s chair smugly. 

“Wotcher, Harry,” Tonks said brightly. “I should have known something this strong would’ve come from you!” 

Draco looked at Remus questioningly. Remus dropped her hand and quickly moved to his desk, taking quill and paper from where Draco sat teaching Harry’s hands proper calligraphy. The remains of notations Professor Flitwick had imparted (“SWISH AND FLICK, MR. MALFOY!”) were scattered to one side. Remus began to write an explanation to Tonks about the Switch: _During the goblin rebellion of 1823, Kenestra MacKenzie led--_ he stopped, perplexed. He hadn’t meant to write any of that. He tried again. _To bake a perfect cake, you must first--_ Remus looked closely at the quill, expecting it to be a prank pen. It seemed legitimate. He looked quizzically at Draco, who read his note and motioned for the quill. 

Draco wrote, _It’s the Hogwarts Secret, dumbass._

Remus closed his eyes. A dozen thoughts hurled through him, from “How dare Albus not inform me!” to “When did I become initiated into this?!” to “I’m going to kill the old man.” Instead, he wrote: _If I remember correctly, only the Headmaster can share the secret with someone outside of Hogwarts? And it must be verbal. Which means we have no way of informing her._ Remus paused, an idea surfacing. He concentrated on writing to Draco, and pushed all thoughts of Tonks out of his mind. _I am writing to you, Draco Malfoy, and request you tell me about the Switch._

Draco read this and saw the trick Remus was trying to pull. The Hogwarts Secret would allow them to talk to each other about it; if they wrote with the intention of messaging the other, they could show Tonks their note. _The Switch is a snake,_ Draco began, _and it bit Harry Potter and myself and magically transferred us to the other’s body._

Remus smiled as Draco successfully completed the sentence. He took the note and handed it triumphantly to Tonks. She took the paper and read it. She looked skeptically between the two. “Why are you telling me this?” She asked. 

Remus snatched the page from her hand. It now read: _A severed wing must include the joint or it will lack the rotation necessary for complete transformative power. Forge it in the fire and grieve the loss of your feathers. Allow your tears to fall into the birth. Through the smoke it will fly by shadow._

He growled, frustrated. He turned back to Draco and wrote, _Our words turned to gibberish. Tonks has no idea what’s going on._

_Tonks…_ Draco felt stuck on the unusual name. He’d heard it before, but he was certain it wasn’t pureblood. 

The Auror was watching them with patient investigation. Something was blocking their words further than silencio. She could taste the frustration in her lover. She approached the table. “Try again,” she spurred. “I’ll read as you form the letters.” 

Remus nodded. She let her cheek rest against his shoulder as he re-wrote an explanation. As she stared at the parchment, the letters swam and shifted. She closed her eyes for a few seconds and tried again, thinking perhaps her dyslexia had overcome her. But no; Remus’ careful handwriting distorted under her gaze, becoming a message about gardening. Remus scribbled the manipulated words into an inky blotch, and beneath wrote, _I’m sorry._

“It’s alright,” she said, unsheathing her wand. “I only need to know who created this mess to reverse it. We can figure out the rest after your voices are back.” 

Remus and Draco shared a look. Intent was so important in magic; could she reverse the spell knowing only the physical source and not the will behind it? 

She arched her wand high over her head. “Ontbind!” she cried, and in a swift figure-eight whipped her wand down and back up again. There was a static crack, and her pink hair blew softly from the rippling air. Holding her position, she waited for the faint whistling only the caster could hear that would signal if reversal had succeeded or failed. The responding whistle was urgent and stopped sharply, like a snapped guitar string. It was a sign she had seldom encountered. 

She narrowed her eyes at ‘Harry’. “Incarcerous!” she cast. Thick ropes appeared and coiled around Draco’s wrists, ankles, and chest, binding him against the chair. 

Remus started forward and Tonks quickly moved her forearm to bar his way, pressing him behind her protectively. “I think we’re dealing with a possession,” she explained. “That’s not Harry.” Taking her shoulder, Remus turned her to look at him and mouthed the words, _I know._

Tonks stared at him. “What the hell is going on here?” She asked. 

Remus picked up the quill and then pointed at Draco, looking at her with pleading eyes. 

“You’re kidding,” she said. “You want me to release it?” 

Remus nodded. 

“No,” Tonks said quietly. “Remus, love, demons can’t be trusted. If it’s promised you something—” She waited patiently as Remus stabbed the quill into the inkpot and considered his message. He wrote, _No demons,_ and watchfully gave it to her. The words remained unchanged. 

“That’s not Harry,” she repeated. 

_I know,_ he mouthed again. 

“Remus, this isn’t Polyjuice. This is not something innocent. My casting recoiled information that a nonconsensual duality was in play here, that almost always means possession!” He jabbed his finger at the parchment in her hand. _No demons._ She stared at the parchment; despite his agitated state, the writing remained clean and neat. He’d clearly been careful in choosing his message, he was not making a hasty assumption. “Finite,” she cast quietly, releasing Draco from his bondage. 

Draco made a grand show of rubbing at his wrists and wincing in pain. Remus rolled his eyes. 

“Where’s Harry?” Tonks asked the boy sternly, her wand aimed at his chest. “Is he still within you, or have you cast him out?" 

Draco shook his head. He tapped his throat. 

Tonks smirked. “I know you want to speak. And I want answers. Where’s Harry?” 

Remus used both hands to point repeatedly at the floor. 

“He’s here?” Tonks asked. “Like…ethereally here-here, like in this room? Or here like the castle?” Remus waved his arms around in a wide circle. She growled. “Remus, enough. I need to cast out the demon if I’m going to--” she stopped herself. _When had demons ever demonstrated accidental magic?_ “This isn’t a demon,” she said softly. 

Both of them nodded. _Finally,_ Draco mouthed. He reached into his pocket and pressed the button Harry had given him. If this witch, Tonks, needed proof that Harry was safe before assisting them then perhaps they could explain better with both of them present. He wondered how long it would take Harry to get here…he wondered how Harry knew this woman. He paused, thinking hard on her name again. 

Draco gasped and bolted out of his chair. He suddenly knew where he knew that name from. Tonks: the name of the muggleborn man his disgraced Aunt left the family for. 

He stared at her with wide, unbelieving eyes. He swallowed and snapped his fingers at Remus for the quill. Remus handed it over to him. Draco wrote, _Your name is Nymphadora Tonks?_

She leaned over him as he wrote. “Yes,” she answered suspiciously. “But don’t ever call me that. It’s just ‘Tonks’.” 

He shrugged in semi-answer to her, and returned to his parchment. _A series of blood-indentured contracts between vampires and witches are--_ Draco growled. He had tried to explain how he knew her, but identifying her directly as his relation triggered the Hogwarts Secret. He tried again, simpler this time. _Your mother is Andromeda Tonks, nee Black._ He waited as she read over his shoulder. She was a fucking slow reader and it annoyed him. 

“That’s true.” 

_Andromeda Tonks had a sister. Narcissa Malfoy, nee Black._

“Go on.”

_Narcissa and Lucius had a son._

“Right.”

He pointed to his chest.

Her eyes widened. “You’re…my cousin Draco?”

Draco nodded. This was the first time Remus realized there was a relation between his girlfriend and the Slytherin brat, and he looked skyward and wondered if this was sarcasm from God.

“But how?!” she exclaimed. “There’s no magic to transfer minds like that. I mean, there’s the Switch, but they went extinct--” she stopped short as Draco started nodding frantically. Remus leapt into the air with a silent howl of success. He gripped her around the waist, dipped her and kissed her. As he raised her back up, he mouthed _You’re brilliant._ She smiled, not noticing the gold dust of the Hogwarts Secret coat her mouth and fingertips, initiating her knowledge into its fold. “Oh my, professor. Do you reward all your students who answer correctly with such enthusiasm?” 

_Put on your old House uniform and find out,_ he mouthed slowly to her. She threw her head back and laughed. “I love you.”

 _I love you, too,_ he mouthed. She pulled out of his arms reluctantly and turned to Draco. “So, like mother like daughter, I’m dating a man entirely outside the limits of pureblood acceptance. You gonna claw my eyes out for it or are we cool?”

Draco smirked and quickly wrote, _I was wondering who’d be crazy enough to date a werewolf, and our Black family heritage certainly has its share of crazy._ He paused, realized she might misconstrue his joking as insulting, and was pleased to hear her laugh. 

The door opened. Blood ribboned Harry’s shirt and his robes were torn. His face was swollen, his bottom lip cut thickly open, and he had dark, shining bruises under both eyes. Draco let the quill fall to the floor. Nothing else mattered, not the quill, not personal propriety, not the eyes of others. All that mattered was that Harry was hurt. He rushed to Harry and gently cupped his face in both hands. Harry flinched, not so much from pain as from embarrassment. He didn’t want a fuss, he only came because Draco used his alert mechanism and Harry promised to always come if Draco needed him.

“What happened?” Draco asked. Harry looked at him, shocked.

Tonks and Remus cracked up laughing.

Draco blushed, realizing he had just broken the accidental magic on his own. “I guess that shows you how important the question is to me.” _How important you are to me,_ Draco thought to himself.

Harry smiled, though the effort stung. “I’ll tell you when we’re alone,” he said quietly. Draco pulled away from him, self-conscious at his own brazenness. “Are you okay?” Harry asked. 

“Yeah,” Draco said. “I thought if you came, we could explain things to her better...” 

Harry dragged his eyes from Draco’s and saw Remus and—“Tonks!” he said in surprise.

She gave him a little salute. “Wotcher, Harry.”

Harry looked between Remus and Draco. “Guess you found a way to tell her without me after all,” he said. He looked back at Tonks. “What are you doing here?”

"Aurors are trained to reverse extreme cases of accidental magic,” she explained, walking towards him. “But since that’s cleared up on its own, let me feel useful.” She aimed her wand at his face and cast multiple sets of healing charms on him. “What happened to you? Want me to go out as Snape--” her face transformed into their professor’s face, “—or Dumbledore—” her face shifted to appear to be the Headmaster, “and scare the living hell out of them?” Her face reverted to her own.

Draco took a sharp breath at her casual display of power. “Mother said you were a metamorphmagus, but I didn’t realize how strong you were.”

Tonks looked at Draco, her eyes growing vulnerable. “Aunt Cissa learned about me? And then taught you?” She shook her head. “That’s contrary to how purebloods handle renouncement.”

“My mother can be a contrary woman,” Draco said softly. “She pays a private investigator to keep tabs on her little sister. She misses Aunt Dromeda. She wants to make sure you and her are safe.”

“But not my father?” Tonks glared.

“No,” Draco said without a hint of regret. “As far as she’s concerned, he stole her sister from her family. I get that it’s not that simple, but that’s her view on the matter.”

She nodded thoughtfully and walked up to Draco. "Want to know something funny?" Her hair shifted from pink to blonde – a light blonde that nearly matched the renowned Malfoy platinum. “This is my natural hair colour. It was the first thing I learned how to change, because mum used to always tell me how sad it made her because it’s just like Aunt Cissa’s.” 

Draco smiled. “Father always says how much he loves mother’s hair. It was what made Grandfather Abraxas choose her instead of Aunt Bella to betroth his son to. Maintaining the Malfoy white-blond signature was important to him.” 

Pink cascaded over Tonks’ hair once more. “Funny how such small things can change so much.” Her smile made Draco wonder what it would have been like to grow up with her in his life. She turned back to Harry. “Just say the word, and I’ll terrify the little blighters who hurt you into requesting transfers to Durmstrang.” 

“I’m fine,” Harry quietly insisted. 

“Figured you’d say that,” Tonks said. She looked up at Remus. “Honestly, how do you handle such stubbornness?” 

“He’s easy after dating you.” 

She let her jaw drop in mock offense. “I am a treasure!” 

Remus chuckled and leaned in to kiss her lightly. “Indeed, you are,” he agreed. “I’ll walk you up to the Headmasters office to make your report.” 

“Try not to shag in every supply closet on your way,” Draco teased. “I hear Filch has set booby traps.” 

“Good thing I have Auror training,” Tonks said with a wink. Draco decided he liked her.

As Tonks led Remus out, Draco turned to face Harry. “I want names,” he said quietly as soon as they were alone. “Who attacked you? Was it Vaisey?” Draco remembered how furious his fellow Slytherin had been about allowing Harry in their House.

“No,” Harry said. He shifted awkwardly. “Worse.”

“Not Vince?”

“None of yours.”

Draco raised his eyebrows in surprise. “A Gryffindor?”

“I’ll tell you if you tell me what set off your castle-wide silencing.”

“I took our voices because I couldn’t talk about it, and now you want me to talk about it?” 

"Yep.”

“You’re the worst.” 

“Does that mean we have a deal?”

Draco sighed. “Fine. You first.”

Harry hesitated. “Yeah, okay…” Not knowing how else to say it, he blurted, “It was Ron.”

Draco’s green eyes went wide. “He’s that upset about you dating his sister?!”

Harry felt a soft laugh slip past him. “No,” he corrected. “Ginny and I aren’t dating.”

“You--” Draco swallowed hard. “You aren’t?”

Harry shook his head. “I told her that dating her would mean losing Ron.” He gave a small huff of disgust. “Funny, isn’t it? I was so concerned about him, and today he goes ahead and beats me bloody.”

“If it wasn’t over dating the she-weasel,” Draco stopped, and tried again. “I mean Ginny. Then what made him lose his mind?”

The concern in Draco’s eyes made Harry’s heart squeeze. He made a conscious effort to keep his voice steady. “He doesn’t want me being so close to you. I told him to sod off.”

Draco felt his world tilt off its axis. “I don’t understand,” he whispered. “You want to date Ginny. You don’t, to spare his feelings. Why are you challenging him for me?” 

_I know you better than I know her._ “Ron will always side with her because she’s his baby sister. That’s family, that’s how it should be. But you? He has no reason not to get over himself if I want to be with you.” Harry felt dread fear knock against his gut. “I mean, not like, ‘be with you’ be with you. You know. Just….be around you.” He wished he could decipher the way Draco was looking at him. “Okay, your turn,” Harry said, quickly trying to change the subject and praying he wouldn’t start blushing. “What made you silence everyone?”

Draco felt his shoulders tighten. By honour, he had to answer, but damned if he knew how. “I was pretty upset last night…” He paused, unsure of himself.

Harry felt himself go cold. “Over me and Ginny?” He tried to clamp down on his anger, but as always with Draco it bubbled to the surface. “You hate the Weasleys that much?”

 _I don’t care a fig about the Weasleys,_ Draco thought. _It was knowing you wanted someone who wasn’t me._ “It was a hard day for me, you know,” he drawled. “I died.” 

A trickle of relief broke across Harry’s skin, cooling him. “Sorry,” he said. “You’re right, you went through a lot.”

“Yeah, I did,” Draco agreed. “So, I was upset. And I didn’t want to be alone. So…Blaise and I hooked up.” He stared defiantly at Harry, who appeared completely unfazed. 

Harry felt his heart crushed under the mortar and pestle of Draco’s words and implications. “That’s great,” he said, throat dry.

Draco was thrown off guard. He thought maybe Harry would be angry, or upset. He shook his head. “No, it’s not,” he said before thinking.

“Why?” Harry asked. “If the Switch never happened, you two would still be together. Doesn’t this mean you guys have worked through things?”

“How have you stayed so innocent?” Draco wondered. 

Harry wrinkled his nose, feeling vaguely insulted. “What do you mean?” 

“Nevermind,” Draco said. “No, we haven’t worked through anything. He just…it just happened.” 

“But do you want to be back together?”

“No,” Draco said quickly. Too quickly. “Look, it wasn’t about ‘working through things’. It was about using each other.”

Harry’s brows furrowed in confusion. “I don’t understand.”

“Of course you don’t,” Draco said wearily. “Look, Gryffindor. It’s not always about love. It’s not always about thinking of the other person’s needs first. Sometimes, it’s just getting what you want, and trading whatever you can to get it.”

"Did you get what you wanted?”

The question made Draco stop. “Not really,” he said. “No.”

“Then why did you trade?”

“I thought I’d be getting what I wanted. But…I really wasn’t.” He swallowed past the lump forming in his throat. “And now, Blaise thinks this means we can get back together. As if last night were some beautiful breakthrough. Newsflash, if one person is crying, it doesn’t mean things are going great.”

“You were crying? And he didn’t stop?”

Draco said nothing for a long time. “It was my choice.”

“How can he say he loves you, and wants to be back together with you, if he is so selfish that he doesn’t care that you’re crying?!”

“You’ll have to ask him.”

“Accio map.”

“What are you doing?”

“I’m going to ask him.”

“What?! Harry, don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m going to ask him, and then I’m going to break him.” The map shot through the slot under the door and flew into Harry’s hand. “I solemnly swear I am up to no good,” Harry murmured, watching the map reveal itself. He found Blaise walking down the hallway leaving the library. “You wanna come with me?”

“It wasn’t that bad! He didn’t—look, I didn’t want it, but I didn’t leave either.”

“Listen to yourself,” Harry said, mountains in his eyes. “You didn’t want it. You were crying. He took what he wanted. If it were Pansy telling you this, how would you react?” 

“I’d kill anyone who hurt her. I love her.” 

“Exactly.” Everything went still as they measured that word, staring at each other. It was a long time before Harry could press on, his voice tight. “There are situations when anyone with decency stops what they’re doing. If the person has passed out. If the person is too drunk to consent. If the person is crying.” 

Draco looked away. “I don’t know how to face it. So please…stop making me defend him.”

Harry fumed silently. He made himself count to ten in his head before speaking. “Did you silence the castle because you couldn’t face what happened, or because of something else?”

Draco stared at the floor. “Couldn’t face it. And Pansy started digging, and Blaise started going off about how we could get back together, and I just…It was too much, too public, too immediate.”

“Too public,” Harry mused. “Fine. I’ll wait until he’s alone before going after him. Then he’ll be the one crying.” Harry let the map fold itself and put it into his inner robe pocket.

Draco snorted and glanced up at Harry. “You’re serious?”

“Yes.”

Draco shook his head. “I appreciate the sentiment, and I’m sure Pansy would rally to your crusade. But I’ll deal with it.”

Harry watched him, trying to gauge if he meant it. “I need you to promise me something.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Promise me, if you ever need someone…let me know. I don’t ever want you compromising yourself just so you won’t be alone.” 

“I thought you didn’t want me using this button over just anything?”

“Your wellbeing isn’t ‘just anything’. It’s important.”

Draco smiled. “I promise.”


	15. Handwriting

Students and professors alike were corralled back to class, grumbling about the point of returning when there was only another twenty minutes left before the next class would start. Snape took great pleasure in deducting points from anyone attempting to sneak into his Defense class after he had made his entrance. 

Ron sidled up to Hermione in the Herbology greenhouse. “Harry’s gone barmy,” he said. He handed her the torn piece of the note he and Harry had passed that morning. “He thinks he’s in love with Malfoy.”

“Ronald!” Hermione hissed. “Honestly, a Howler’s more discrete than you!” She took the note and hid it under her workstation before reading. 

“He said it’s ‘more than a crush’,” Ron whispered, leaning to speak in her ear. He loved her wild, bushy hair, and was utterly distracted by the scent of her. She smelled like blackberries and petrichor, and something he couldn’t quite pinpoint. What was that…

“Ron are you listening?”

“You’re too quiet,” Ron covered.

“Sorry,” Hermione said a smidge louder. “I said what makes you think that? This note is just Harry defending his new friend.”

“See the ripped part?” Ron reached over to point along the upper edge. “Harry had the half with the confession.”

Hermione frowned. “You’re not exaggerating, are you? Because this is serious.”

“I’m not exaggerating!” Ron complained. At Hermione’s shushing, he lowered his voice again. “He legit said it’s more than a crush.” 

“Oh, Ron…” the sound in her voice made him panic. “You didn’t give this part to him, did you?” She pointed at the bottom of the page. It read, _You’re fucking broken._

“Er…”

“Oh, Ron,” she sighed deeply. 

“Yeah, okay, but did you read where he said he’s supposed to be a _Slytherin_!?” He snapped defensively, jabbing the paper with his forefinger.

Hermione shook her head. “I was almost in Ravenclaw, I never talked about it.”

Ron barked out a laugh. “Well, come on Hermione, that’s obvious. Of course Ravenclaw would be a possibility for you, you’re the brightest witch of our age. But Harry? Slytherin?!” 

“He must have been too ashamed to tell anyone.”

“You’re not listening. That body is changing him. Look at this, right here. He doesn’t care that Malfoy called you a mudblood.”

Hermione pursed her lips at the word disapprovingly. “That’s not what he’s saying,” she explained patiently. “He thinks Malfoy’s changed since that time.”

Ron threw up his hands in frustration. “Can you just be on my side for once?!” 

“I am,” Hermione insisted. “I can tell you’re worried, and honestly I don’t understand their…” She decided to avoid the term ‘relationship’. “Whatever’s happening between them. The difference is that while I don’t trust Malfoy, I do trust Harry. And you’re acting like you can’t trust either.”

“Harry’s judgement is impaired,” Ron scowled. “Mione, he needs our help. We got to keep him away from Malfoy.”

“I don’t know about all that,” she said cautiously. “But I promise, I’ll talk to him.”

*

Remus returned to the Dynamics classroom with a relaxed, satisfied smile that made Harry and Draco snicker. They had just enough time to practice their wind charms, having recently moved on from fire. They were now attempting to utilize the delicacy of blowing out the candles they had worked on lighting. So far, Draco created a miniature cyclone, and Harry increased the oxygen around the flame causing a fiery blast.

Harry and Draco were laughing and teasing about their disastrous results as they left class for lunch. Both boys stopped in their tracks when they noticed who was waiting for them.

“Blaise,” Harry snarled. 

The Slytherin ignored Harry entirely. He stepped towards Draco. “We need to talk,” he said gently.

“I know,” Draco agreed quietly. “Later. After dinner.”

“No, now.”

“Blaise…”

“It’s about Pansy.”

Draco’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “What do you mean?”

“Not in front of him,” Blaise said with a small jerk of his head to Harry.

Draco and Harry looked at each other. Draco smiled at him and said sweetly, “Shove off, Potter.” 

Harry itched to stay and make certain he was alright, but clearly Draco didn’t want to reveal to Blaise how close they’d become. He rolled his eyes at his friend and left for the Great Hall.

Waiting until Harry disappeared around the corner, Draco raised his eyebrows expectantly at Blaise. “Well?”

Blaise shifted uncomfortably. “When you silenced everyone and left with Professor Lupin, Pansy kept harassing me. She’d write notes but I’d crumple them into balls without reading. I tried moving down the breakfast table to go sit with Thomasin and Seth, but she followed.”

Draco smiled ruefully. _That’s my girl,_ he thought, _stubborn as a Sphinx._

“Eventually, Slytherin left and took over the library.”

“Good choice.”

“We thought so,” Blaise said, smiling briefly. He glanced around as students leaving class began to file towards the Great Hall. He lowered his voice. “The lads and I went to our usual table. You know, near the Restricted Section?” Draco nodded. “She followed us again, but this time she just stood by the shelves and stared at us. We thought she was just being creepy. We didn’t put it together that she was waiting…” His shoulders tightened. “The instant our voices returned she cast Legilimens on me.”

Draco’s eyes widened at the implication. “Did she…?” He swallowed. He desperately didn’t want her to see Blaise’s memory of last night.

“She tried,” Blaise said. “Gotta hand it to her, perfect time to strike…”

“Blaise, what happened?! Did she see anything?”

“The start. But…Draco. Thomasin leapt up and pushed her.” Draco felt his heart skip a beat. “He wanted to protect me. He didn’t know--”

“Like hell he didn’t,” Draco said darkly.

“He just didn’t want her invading my head. If he knew that breaking a mental bond that way could be dangerous to her…” he paused. He actually wasn’t sure if Thomasin would have changed his actions if he knew or not. “The point is,” he skirted, “She passed out. I got her to Madam Pomfrey, and she says Pansy will be fine. But she’s disoriented and has to stay there for the day.” He looked imploringly at Draco. “I left class early so I could tell you. I thought…you should know.”

Draco felt fire in his veins. “I am going to kill that worthless, muggle-brained crony of yours.”

“Pansy started it, not Thomasin.”

“He could have effectively lobotomized her!” Draco hissed.

“I’m not saying he was right. Just remember he wasn’t striking out unprovoked.” 

Draco fumed, the smoke and fog of unformed retribution obscuring his sight. 

Blaise shifted the strap of his book bag anxiously. “Do you want to check if she’s allowed visitors? I could walk you.”

Draco shook his head. “You go to lunch. I’ll head up to the medic ward.”

“Draco—”

“Blaise. Thank you. It means a lot that you’d tell me about Pansy yourself.” He instinctually looked away, but forced himself to return to eye contact. “But I don’t want you going with me.”

Silence. It was a long, cold minute before Blaise said, “Fine.” The boy turned and left for the Great Hall without looking back. An irrational part of Draco wanted to run after him and apologize for hurting him. 

Instead, he hurried towards the Healers ward.

*

Harry walked into the Great Hall and was so preoccupied with his worry for what Blaise might be saying to Draco that he was halfway to Gryffindor table before he realized he didn’t know where to sit. Ginny’s resentment at breakfast made it clear he wasn’t to approach her yet, and the fist fight with Ron wasn’t something he could ignore. He scanned the table and found an empty spot among the seventh years. Harry gratefully sat down, trying to appear like he didn’t care at all that he wasn’t with his friends. Draco’s well-trained face quickly masked into superior nonchalance as Harry ignored his surroundings.

Ron and Hermione had come down to lunch together, and Ginny quickly moved to sit with them. “Aren’t you going to sit with Harry?” Ginny asked her brother stiffly. 

Hermione gave Ron’s arm an alarmed squeeze as she noticed him start to heat up. She looked at him with imploring eyes. He scowled, wishing Hermione cared about his feelings the way she bent over backwards to consider Harry’s. Ron knew he’d rather walk over burning coals than be the cause of pain for her. “No,” he said gruffly. “And I don’t want to talk about it.”

Hermione relaxed. Ginny tensed. His sister could think of only one thing that would make Ron so angry he would avoid his best friend, and that would be Harry rejecting her last night. Harry must have told him. “Well, it’s sweet that you care, but honestly I’m fine.”

“What?” He asked.

Hermione felt panic rise again as she realized what conclusion her friend had drawn. “There’s Harry now!” she said in an effort to divert their attention. They watched Harry as he walked directly to sit among the seventh years without so much as a glance at them.

“Hermione, now’s your chance,” Ron nudged her. She looked at him disbelievingly. “You said you’d talk with him.”

“I think I should wait until we’re alone,” Hermione insisted. She was afraid that both Weasleys would spill their secrets to the other if she left. “Like, maybe after dinner…”

“Cuz Gryffindor Tower is a solitary place?” Ron scoffed. “If you’re not gonna do it, just say so.”

“I am!” Hermione defended. “But Ron, I can’t…go into detail…with so many people around.”

“Just buddy-up to him and let him know you need to talk. Don’t let him find excuses to get out of it.”

Hermione glanced over at Harry. She stood and leaned across the table to Ginny. Ginny obligingly leaned forward as well. Hermione whispered, “Ron doesn’t know about last night. He and Harry argued about something else.” Ginny’s eyes widened as she realized what she nearly did, and she sat back down with a nod of thanks to her friend. 

“What was that about?!” Ron demanded.

“Girl talk,” Ginny said with a wink to Hermione. Hermione smiled and picked up her book bag as Ron complained. She walked over to Harry.

“Hey,” she said as she stood by Harry’s left. Since the Switch, she made a conscious point of remembering his body was left-dominated. Hermione believed every little thing she could do to make him more comfortable was worthwhile through this ordeal. “Can I squeeze in?”

Harry was surprised to see her. “Yeah, of course,” he said as he moved over as far as he could.

“Things have really sucked lately, haven’t they?” She said as she settled her book bag between her ankles.

Harry laughed. “Yeah, pretty much.”

“Not seeing you in class every day has been so weird. We haven’t had much of a chance to hang out.”

“I’ve missed you, too.”

She smiled. A new plate appeared in front of the spot they had created for her, and she automatically pulled the Shepherd’s pie towards her to spoon onto her plate. “The thing is, Harry…” She paused. Turning away from the meal entirely, she faced her friend and spoke bluntly. “Ron told me about the messages you were swapping earlier.” Harry’s dove grey eyes turned to steel. She rushed to continue. “It’s just, a lot has changed for you, and we haven’t been privy to most of what’s been going on. I promised you I’d try to understand, but I need your help. Will you help me?”

To her dismay, Harry stood and walked away without a word. The same fury and temper that caused Harry to destroy Dumbledore’s office right before summer drove him now as he approached Ron. He stood beside the boy at the empty spot where Hermione had been sitting previously, picked up her untouched cup of tea, and dumped the hot liquid into Ron’s lap.

“What the bloody hell?!” Ron roared as he leapt up, the scalding liquid soaked through his trousers and held close to his body.

“How could you?” Harry yelled back and threw the teacup at Ron’s feet, the vicious crack making Ron jump. Harry gave a spiteful smirk at Ron’s reaction. He hissed, “You knew it was private when you first offered to stay and write with me. Suddenly you can’t change my mind, and you run and tell about it at the first chance you get?!” 

“I told her because I don’t know how to help you!”

“The only help I need,” Harry said in a low voice, “Is how to get through to my best friend without him beating the shit out of me for trying.”

“Gentlemen,” Dumbledore’s voice boomed overtop of Ron’s protests. 

“Twenty points from Gryffindor for assaulting a student, Mr. Potter,” McGonagall briskly snapped.

“But Professor!” Ron argued, angry his own House should lose points when it was meant to punish the perpetrator.

“I suggest you focus on your meal rather than each other,” Dumbledore warned. 

“I’m done,” Harry said with a final glare at Ron. He turned and left the Great Hall. 

Ron took out his wand to cast a cleaning and drying spell as he sat back down. The Gryffindors around him were asking questions, and Ginny was no exception. He told everyone to stuff it and grumpily ate his lunch.

Hermione ran after Harry.

She caught up to him outside the Great Hall. “Harry,” she said as she took him by the elbow. He jerked away from her hold and automatically felt guilty. He stopped walking and looked at her.

“Now what?” he asked sourly. “A lecture? I’m not in the mood.”

“What did you mean by ‘beating the shit out of you’?”

Harry shook his head and muttered to himself, “Of course he didn’t tell you that part…”

“Then you tell me.”

Harry shifted, his anger a corrosive force in his veins. “It’s just like it sounds,” he spat. He let out a breath, a hard pant of air, wanting to release the pain in his chest. He continued in a small, tight voice, “He told me I was broken, and I wanted to stop talking to him about it. The minute I tried to take the note and leave, he fought me to keep the note.” His heart pounded at the memory. “The only reason he would do that would be to show it to someone. So I fought back.”

Hermione shook her head. “I’m so sorry,” she said quietly. “That’s really awful.”

Harry’s eyes softened to her. “Yeah,” he said. “And sure enough, I was right wasn’t I? He showed you.”

“Yes…but not to hurt you. I know it’s not much consolation when your trust has been betrayed, but he thinks he’s protecting you.” Harry rolled his eyes, but said nothing. Hermione took that as a good sign and kept going. “I know you aren’t comfortable talking about all this. But really, you confided in Ron first? Ron? Of all people?” She gave an anxious smile. “You should know by now he needs a buffer.”

Harry grimaced. “I didn’t mean to tell him first. He guessed.”

Hermione’s jaw dropped. “That little cockroach guessed you have feelings for Malfoy and he can’t figure out how I—” She stopped. A faint blush splashed across her cheeks. “Nevermind.”  
Despite himself, Harry grinned. Suddenly the tension broke and they were both laughing. Hermione threw her arms around his neck. “Oh, Harry! Please don’t be mad that I know.” He hugged her back, struggling for how he felt. “You’re my best friend. And I want to understand this part of your life. It’s important.”

Harry felt her begin to loosen her hold and he hugged her tighter. He wasn’t ready to face her and have to decide what to do. She let him prolong the hug, knowing that personal touch was a big deal to him and pleased that he wanted to hold on.

“It’s not something I really understand myself,” Harry mumbled shyly as he pulled away from her.

“That’s okay,” Hermione encouraged. “Let’s go back to Gryffindor, and you can tell me all about him.”

Harry smirked. “And can we paint our nails and play Truth or Dare?”

“You are so not ready for Truth or Dare,” she quipped back. He smiled back at her, clearly uncomfortable but at least trying. “Come on, Harry,” she urged. She knew her friend needed extra coaching to open up. “Teach me about the new Malfoy. Rumour has it I’m a fast learner.”

Harry laughed again, and felt a deep grief across his shoulders and chest. Her kindness was everything he could have wished for, and it intensified his pain over Ron’s reaction. “Alright,” he said with a soft smile. “For starters, his name is Draco,” Harry said as they walked to Gryffindor Tower together.

*

“Five minutes,” Madam Pomfrey grudgingly agreed. “And not a second more. And if she shows any sign of distress, I will mobilicorpus your protesting rear out of my medic ward!”

“Absolutely,” Draco said.

She gave him a shrewd eye, having heard many students agree with her when they think they’re getting their way only to conveniently forget their agreement should they be asked to leave early. “This way,” she said, leading him to one of two curtained-off beds.

 _The second must be Professor Slughorn,_ Draco thought. He felt unnerved, knowing that a man who technically died on his behalf lay in that bed. He looked away.

Madam Pomfrey flicked her wand and the curtain surrounding Pansy’s bed slid to the side. The healer walked across the room, allowing the pair a modicum of privacy as she watched the girl’s reactions.

“You had me scared,” Draco said.

“Why?” The clipped, cold word surprised him. 

He cocked his head to the side. “What do you mean, ‘why’? You got hurt.”

“Why do you care?” She snarled.

He felt his blood fall to his feet. “I…Pansy, I’ve always cared. You know that.”

“Liar,” she said, disgust grating through the word. “And if you don’t leave me alone, I’ll tell Draco you’ve been harassing me. He’ll make you sorry.”

He laughed as nervousness and relief whirled through him. “Pansy, love, it’s me Draco. Remember? Harry and I got bit by the Switch and we transferred bodies?”

She closed her eyes, concentrating through something difficult. “What did you call him?”

He didn’t know what to say. “Uh…Potter.”

“No…you said…” She dropped her head into her hands and moaned. 

Madam Pomfrey rushed over. “There, there,” she soothed. “Chin up, dear,” she instructed.

“It hurts,” Pansy whimpered.

“I know,” the healer said. “Let me see. Chin up.”

Pansy slowly pulled her head from her hands, like it weighed too much for her to support. She looked pleadingly into Madam Pomfrey’s eyes. “Mother, it hurts…”

Madam Pomfrey cast a soft spell that blew like campfire smoke – dark with sparks dusted throughout. It was absorbed into the girl’s eyes. The healer looked up at Draco, whose concern was so vibrant it made her heart ache. “She’ll be alright,” Madam Pomfrey assured him. “I promise. By the end of the night, she’ll have everything sorted and be back to her old self again. But for now, I’ll kindly ask you to leave.”

*

Harry and Hermione had retreated to Gryffindor tower and gotten Dobby to bring some lunch as Harry recounted all the ways Draco was growing. Harry described in detail his discussions with Draco about muggleborns, magic, and allegiance. He confided how Lucius was tortured for failing to retrieve the prophecy, and how it had changed Draco’s view of Voldemort. He couldn’t bring himself to share the more personal moments he and Draco had built, but at least he got Hermione to recognize that Draco had indeed changed and was continuing to learn. Her acceptance and support made him feel lighter, a shy joy rising in him.

When Harry returned to the Dynamics classroom, he found Draco sitting in his seat with a far-off look on his face. “What happened?” Harry asked as he slid in the seat next to him.

“Hm?” Draco looked up at him. Harry’s words seemed to take forever to translate from sound into language. “Oh,” he scrunched up his face, trying to gather his thoughts. “Pansy…she stalked Blaise until the curse broke, and cast Legilimens. His idiot friend pushed her to break her hold on him. You can’t snap a person’s mind like that…She’s lucky she’ll recover.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry said. “Is she in pain?”

“Yeah,” Draco ground out. He shook his head. 

“Are you okay?”

“Just tired.” 

“You need to eat.”

“I’m not hungry.”

Harry took out an apple from his robe pocket. “I had a feeling that whatever was going on with Blaise and Pansy would mean you’d skip lunch.” He handed the apple to Draco. “I brought this for you.”

Draco took it and set it on his desk. “Maybe later.”

“Tell me if this sounds about right,” Harry said with a knowing smile. “You’re bone weary, about-to-drop tired. Your muscles are tight, you feel light-headed, your hands are cold. Concentrating is difficult.”

“Accurate,” Draco said, curious how Harry could tell.

Harry nodded. “You’re hungry. Trust me – growing up with the Dursleys meant that body learned signaling hunger wouldn’t result in getting food. Now, it usually mis-signals as tired when it’s hungry, because it knows that sleep will help it conserve energy.”

Draco picked up the apple again and took a bite. He closed his eyes, an overwhelming appreciation as his body felt lit up and waking. He watched Harry as he chewed, thinking about what he explained. “They damaged you so badly that your primal needs have been re-routed.” He took another bite. He was pretty sure nothing had ever tasted as good as this apple. “I’d love to hand the Dursleys over to the Dark Lord. Let him play with them a bit before disposing of them.”

“Don’t joke about that,” Harry said, feathers of fear lifting within.

“Who says I’m joking?”

“I mean it. Don’t say that – don’t even think it.” Harry felt shocked as Draco scoffed. “Draco, nobody deserves torture. Nobody deserves to be killed.”

“Everything they’ve done to you--”

“There’s no justification,” Harry cut him off. “They may hate me, but they’re the only family I have. They kept me, when I was just left on their doorstep. They could have let me die in the cold, they didn’t.”

“Family is sacred,” Draco said. “What they’ve done is unforgivable.”

“Well, I forgive it.”

Remus walked into the classroom. Draco, normally a very dedicated student, found his mind wandering to what Harry had said. If Harry wouldn’t let him curse the monsters to oblivion, then Draco would have to get used to their existence in Harry’s life. How the fuck could he do that?

A knock on the door startled him from his thoughts. Remus paused his instruction but the door opened before he could beckon anyone forward. Dumbledore stepped inside, smiling kindly. “It is time,” he announced to Remus. He turned his gaze to the students. “Horace is ready to receive visitors. If you’ll both come with me…”

Harry was anxious. What was he supposed to say to his professor? Too soon, they arrived at the medic ward and Harry was at the bedside of a man who had died because of him – who had died over eight hundred times.

Professor Slughorn laid in bed with pillows propping him up into a semi-sitting position. His eyes bore the pooling glitter of uncontainable anguish, and his attempts to smile reassuringly at the boys pulled his lips into the stiff curl of a dying spider. “You boys didn’t have to come,” he croaked, voice raw from screaming.

“We wanted to,” Harry said firmly. 

Draco stepped forward, his words carefully prepared since first learning of Professor Slughorn’s condition. “What you did for us goes beyond the call of any professor.” He paused. “We Slytherins are often accused of being cowards. Thank you…for your help, for your sacrifice, and for reminding our school of Slytherin bravery.” 

Professor Slughorn reached out and grasped the boy’s hand, a grateful squeeze and a nod. “Thank you,” he murmured. Tears leaked at the corners of his eyes but did not fall. 

Harry admired the dignified, adult speech Draco had given. Harry fumbled with his words for an awkward moment, trying to name the feelings that swirled and simmered. “You’ve done as my own parents have – died to save me,” Harry said. Slughorn’s gaze riveted on him. “I am so sorry for what you’ve gone through. I’ll never forget it.”

"Neither shall I, I’m sure,” Professor Slughorn tried to joke, but the attempt was thin. “Thank you, Harry. Ranking my actions among those of your parents is high praise. Lily was always a favourite of mine, as I told you before…” His eyes shut slowly, and he seemed to deflate a little. “I hope she can forgive me.”

“There is nothing to forgive,” Harry said.

“Yes…there is.” He sighed. Harry had never before heard a sound that conveyed so much age. “I would very much like to rest, now,” he said. Madam Pomfrey was standing by and without a word handed him a vial that Draco recognized as Dreamless Sleep potion. The professor gave her a shaky smile and swallowed it quickly.

“Peace be with you,” Draco said. Merlin knows the man deserved it.

Dumbledore watched, furious at Madam Pomfrey’s efficiency and readiness. If only she hadn’t prepared, if only she had to fetch supplies from Professor Snape or even return to her office for the potion, perhaps Horace might have revealed more. _No matter,_ he told himself. His theory had been partially proven: Horace could indeed be manipulated into confessing to Harry. Dumbledore smiled as the satisfying _click_ of one more piece of his plan confirmed its place.

“Come now, Harry,” Dumbledore instructed, eager for that click to strike again. “We have an appointment.”

“Yes, sir.”

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled as he moved his pieces in his mind, the gameboard so vast that the pieces could only see the squares they occupied, with Albus standing godlike as he changed their direction according to his plan.

Draco watched, uneasy, as Harry left with the Headmaster. He worried that Harry’s naiveté would prevent him from filtering manipulation and deceit. Draco itched to be at Harry’s side for this meeting. He didn’t like the way Dumbledore had explained to Harry that he must allow Slughorn to “collect him”.

Draco shook his head and turned to Madam Pomfrey. He wanted an update on Pansy before returning to class.

*

“Lemon Drop?”

“Uh, no thank you,” Harry said as he sat across from the Headmaster.

Albus studied Harry for a moment, pretending to make up his mind to confide in him. “As I mentioned before,” he began, lines from a script. “It was crucial for Horace to return to Hogwarts. I daresay you’ve wondered why.” He watched Harry tense and focus, and he smiled at the boy. His plans would be so much easier if he didn’t genuinely care for the child. “Professor Slughorn is the sole bearer of a memory we need if Voldemort is to be destroyed.” He leaned across the table to Harry and delivered in a grim tone, “And you are the only person alive who could get him to face it.”

“Me?” Harry asked in confusion and gentle embarrassment. “But I don’t even know him. Wouldn’t someone he cares for be better suited to convince him?”

“His memory is shrouded in guilt, a guilt so seeping that he has begun to re-write the memory to soothe himself. No, Harry; I suspect the only person he would surrender the truth to would be a person who represents an equal guilt for him.” _Pause for effect,_ Albus reminded himself. “Horace adored your mother. Indeed, he cherishes every person he selects to join his Slug Club entourage of the gifted. They are the family he never had.” He smiled at Harry’s predictable reaction. “Something he knows contributed to the rise of the Dark Lord, and the murder of his star pupil. Only his guilt over Lily is strong enough to make him face his self-damnation.” He sat back in his chair. “His comment about wishing her forgiveness proves that.”

“But Professor,” Harry began, uncomfortable with the question he had to ask. “How am I supposed to use that?” 

Dumbledore smiled. “Continue to show interest in Horace upon his recovery. Ask him if he thinks you would be ‘good enough’ to join the Slug Club like your mother. He will be so tickled, I daresay he’ll bring you into his fold instantly. Gain his confidence, and question him when the moment is right.”

Harry nodded, feeling fraudulent.

“One more thing before you go, Harry.” Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled as he reached into his inner robe pocket and pulled out a slender cream envelope, with a gold papercut lace design risen from the stationary. The matching gold wax seal was broken. “I’ve taken the liberty of reading any incoming or outgoing owls for Mr. Malfoy since the Switch.”

Harry was furious, his nails biting into his palms as he forced himself to withhold comment. He knew Draco would want all the information their Headmaster would offer.

“I can see that you’re angry with me,” Dumbledore commented breezily. _Clearly, Mr. Malfoy’s effect on him is already taking root,_ he thought as Harry remained waiting. _My timing couldn’t be better._ “It is for your safety that I do this. By necessity of the Switch, Mr. Malfoy has been required to learn a great deal of sensitive information about you. The temptation he faces to inform his parents of everything he knows is a danger I have to oversee.”

“Voldemort won’t care if I broke my arm when I was eight or if I slept in a cupboard most of my life.”

“Ah, but he would love to know where the Dursleys reside. There are charms protecting that information; the only way any Death Eater can learn it is if it is confided directly.” 

Harry glared hard at Dumbledore. “Draco doesn’t support Voldemort.”

“But he does support his father,” Dumbledore argued. “A Death Eater desperate to redeem himself to his Lord.”

Harry shook his head. “I trust him.”

“Do you think that’s wise, Harry?” The boy glared at him and was about to snap something but Dumbledore continued as if he didn’t notice. 

Harry swallowed hard and said quietly, “With all due respect, sir, I’ve gotten to know him far better than you ever have. And I trust him.”

“Ah, yes. It’s a beautiful thing to overcome one’s rivalries. Especially when they have been as impassioned as yours.” Dumbledore watched Harry carefully. “However, this is not a gamble you take as a young boy making a friend. This is a gamble where you risk the war. Think of the destruction and loss we suffered because Voldemort learned about your weakness for Sirius.” He noted the faltering look in the boy’s eyes as Harry felt intense guilt over his godfather. “We must be more careful.”

“Draco is clever,” Harry said slowly, his voice tight. “He calculates and weighs everything. He won’t give away anything by accident. And he won’t intentionally betray me.” When Dumbledore refused to respond, Harry repeated, “He won’t.”

Dumbledore gave a long-practiced sigh. “I brought this to your attention because there is something concerning in this correspondence from Mrs. Malfoy.” He raised his great eyebrows. “Do you prefer to remain ignorant of its contents?” He was careful to keep the amusement far from his face as he watched Harry struggle with curiosity and temptation, and the seed of suspicion.

“If it’s something Draco wants me to know, he can tell me himself,” Harry said firmly. “But I will take the letter from you now.”

This was going easier than he planned. He feigned surprise. “My dear boy, I don’t think that would be appropriate.”

“What’s _appropriate_ is for Draco to learn that his mail has been tampered with.” 

“And he wouldn’t simply believe you if you told him?” 

Harry glared. “He’d believe me. But I’m not leaving without that letter.”

“Very well, Harry…” Dumbledore extended the envelope to him. “That will be all.”

With a curt nod, Harry took the letter and left.

Dumbledore smiled. Harry hand-delivering Narcissa’s news would trigger Draco into blaming Harry for its contents…and destroy anything budding between them.

_Click._

*

The letter burned in Harry’s hand the entire walk to the Dynamics room, rattling his curiosity like a convict shaking the bars of his jail. Harry refused to give in to it. 

Class had just ended, and Remus left to busy himself before dinner. Draco waited, confident that Harry would still meet him without the expectation of class. The door swung open and Draco smirked, pleased at how well he knew the Gryffindor. “About time,” he drawled lightly. 

“Yeah, sorry,” Harry said, unable to manage more than a half-smile at Draco’s teasing. 

“Something happen?” Draco tried to keep the concern out of his voice.

Harry hesitated. “I learned more about Professor Slughorn.” He explained their professor’s importance to the war, and the way Harry had been instructed to gain the man’s confidence. 

“I have such a bad feeling about this,” Draco grumbled. 

“Me too,” Harry admitted. “But there’s something worse. I don’t know how to say it kindly, but Dumbledore doesn’t trust you.”

“To the shock of no one.”

“But he took it too far,” Harry said. He stepped closer and held out the envelope. “He’s read your mail.”

Draco’s eyes narrowed and he took the envelope. “Did you read it?”

“No.”

“Did he _tell you_ what was in it?”

Harry shook his head. “All he said was that it’s from your mother. And that it has something ‘concerning’. He wanted to tell me, but I refused to hear it. It’s yours to share or not.”

Draco examined the envelope, furious that the old man had invaded something so personal of his. His mother had chosen solemn, exceptionally formal stationary, and the broken seal was of the historically prideful Malfoy crest rather than the simpler more commonly used family crest. These were symbols warning him to read this in private, of difficult news within. He glanced up at Harry, who watched him with pained eyes and a strained curiosity. Draco’s hands shook as he pulled the letter out.

Equally formal parchment. Indignation bubbled through him as he noticed an uneven second set of folded creases – clearly, where Dumbledore had tried to return the letter to its envelope. He blew out a breath through his mouth and read.

And felt his entire world disintegrate.

He looked up at Harry. “And you didn’t read this?”

“No,” Harry promised. He saw the darkness fall over Draco’s face and the tears lighting his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“You,” Draco breathed the word, a stab through his chest.

“What?” Harry asked, breathless.

“Don’t…just stay away from me.” 

Draco rushed out of the room, angrily wiping the moisture from his eyes with the heel of his hand as he all but ran for the dungeons. He never should have read this in front of Harry – _in front of Potter._ The grief ricocheted through him as his anger tore Harry away. 

Imperiously storming the dungeons, he spotted Vince and Greg lounging on one of the couches trying to talk to some sixth year girls. “Crabbe, Goyle,” he snapped. Making eye contact, he turned and marched to his room, trusting them to follow.

They did.

“This better be important,” Vince griped as they closed Draco’s bedroom door behind them. “I was this close to getting Charlene to Mask with me for Samhain.” 

“She was teasing you, it won’t actually happen,” Greg said with a grin.

“No, she was totally into it. I just needed more time.”

“People ‘totally into it’ don’t need to be begged.”

“Whatever.”

Draco watched his friends silently. Samhain. The day after tomorrow. The world kept going, even though his world was ending, how strange was that? Numbness and shock pressed down on him, bruising him in sighs.

“My father is to die.” Draco held up the letter, his mother’s perfect writing blemished by her tears. “For failing to retrieve the prophecy.”

Vince immediately grabbed the parchment and Greg led Draco to sit on the bed.

“Shit,” Vince said and gave the letter to Greg. “I’m so sorry…”

Greg read it over quickly. “Draco, this doesn’t say for certain….”

“Don’t patronize me,” Draco snapped. “My mother’s letter says the Dark Lord took my father’s wand for His own. My father is under close guard not to leave the country, and the only legitimate wand maker is the Dark Lord’s prisoner. What use does He have for a Death Eater who can’t perform magic?!” He felt his chest contract in pain and he gasped for it. Taking a steading breath, he continued, “The Dark Lord is humiliating him. It’s just a cat and mouse game before the end.” 

“I really thought the torture over summer would be the end of it,” Vince said softly.

Draco nodded. Hot tears streaked his face. “Me too,” he croaked. “But He has never accepted failure. Harry Potter swooped in…and saved the day.” The bitterness of this last point broke him, and he sobbed hard into his hands.

Vince looked at Greg uncomfortably. They knew how Draco felt about Potter. Greg rubbed his friend’s back supportively. “I’m glad you told us,” he said. “Have Narcissa pull you from school for the next month, or so…and spend time with your father.”

“What was that old kook’s name, Giordano?” Vince asked. “He may not be legit, but he’s still in the country, and he’s _good_ at wand-crafting. Get your father to meet with him.”

“You idiot,” Greg hissed. “If the Dark Lord doesn’t want Lucius having a wand, then he can’t just show up with a wand!”

“Obviously!” Vince argued back. “It’s not to strut about town with, dunderhead! It’s so he can still be a man in his own home!” Realizing what he just said, he gave a sheepish look to Draco. “Sorry…I just meant, it would give Lucius comfort to still be capable of magic right to the end.”

Draco smiled weakly at him. “It’s a good idea,” he said. Having something of value to offer his father gave Draco a little strength. 

Greg had been puzzling together something different. He decided to phrase his findings as questions, and let Draco be the one to ‘figure it out’. “What I don’t understand,” he said carefully. “Is why would Dumbledore give Potter the letter?”

“Haven’t you been listening?” Draco asked, exhausted. He rubbed his face. “He wanted Harry not to trust me anymore. But when he brought it up, Harry wouldn’t leave without the evidence.”

 _He’s still using ‘Harry’, that’s good at least._ Greg pushed on. “Right. But intercepting a mail-bird is difficult. Afterwards, all he had to do is reparo the seal and let the bird complete its delivery. Then tell Harry.” He purposely matched calling the boy by his first name.

“Who gives a unicorn’s fart why Bumblesnore gave Potter the letter?!” Vince complained.

Draco’s brows furrowed. Greg made a good point, it was odd. 

Unless.

“…unless he wanted Harry to be my owl,” Draco said carefully. “Unless he knew that Harry delivering this news would strike the point home that Harry’s interference is what lead to father’s failure.”

Greg smiled. He knew his friend would get there. “And Dumbledore finds your growing closeness threatening.”

“Whoa,” Vince said. He balled up his fists in outrage. “He can’t play you like that! I may not be on board with your nauseating infatuation with Potter, but you can’t let some old man manipulate your decision to be allied with the guy.”

“Dumbledore’s orchestrations aside, Harry is still responsible. Isn’t he?” He asked desperately. “How can I reconcile the consequences of what he’s done…”

“Because he’s never gone after your family,” Greg said. “You said he knew your father gave the she-Weasel that diary in Year Two, that he recognized your father at the graveyard in Year Four. He never tried to go after Lucius. Even after the Battle at the Ministry, Harry didn’t deny your father’s involvement, but he didn’t admit details of his leadership.” He shrugged. “He’s fighting the war, not your father.”

The three friends talked for a long time. It was starting to get late when Draco finally had the strength to press his button. 

“Do you want us to go with you?” Vince asked while Greg handed him a black pouch.

“No. I need to meet with him alone.”

* *

Draco was surprised to see Harry had already arrived at the Dynamics room by the time he got there. “I’ve been worried sick,” Harry said when Draco entered. Draco closed the heavy door and leaned against it as Harry crossed the room to be close to him. “What happened?” The gentleness in his voice made it difficult for Draco to reply.

“I shouldn’t have blamed you,” Draco said softly. “I need you to accept that doing so was my failing, and that this is not your fault, before I tell you everything.”

“My guilt-complex notwithstanding, thank you for wanting to clear me. Now please: what’s going on? Are you okay?”

Something deep in Draco’s belly shuddered. “The Dark Lord has taken father’s wand for his own.”

Harry struggled to understand the nuances of this. “That’s….an honour for him?”

Draco felt a faint smile. “Precious Potter, you’re trying so hard aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Harry said with a self-deprecating grin. 

“They didn’t trade, angel-prat. The Dark Lord took it…leaving father wandless.” Draco swallowed and let the impossible words leave him. “A Death Eater who can’t do magic is as good as a muggle: better off dead.”

Harry felt dread sink down his body. “You mean…?”

“It’s only a matter of time before the Dark Lord executes my father.”

“But Lucius is loyal, and powerful. Why would Voldemort want to kill him?”

“For failing to retrieve the prophecy.” _There._ It was all out.

Harry reeled back. “Oh, god…Draco, I’m so sorry…”

“Stop,” Draco said, taking a step towards him. “The Dark Lord is psychotic. This is entirely his fault.”

“I swear, I never meant--”

“I know.” Draco opened the black pouch and pulled out the appropriate stationary Greg helped him select. “But I need your help.”

“Anything.”

Draco tried to smile. “You have my handwriting. I need to pen a reply to mother. Vince says I can use his owl, in case Dumbledore is still tracking mine.”

“Yeah, of course,” Harry walked to their student seats and took the fancy quill and parchment Draco gave him. The paper had a strange silver hue to it that made it look like water had spilled across its length. “Alright, when you’re ready.”

Draco sat next to him and took a few deep breaths, willing his voice to remain calm and steady. “Dearest Mother,” he said. Then, watching Harry write, he scolded, “No, what are you doing? ‘Mother’ is a proper title, not just a noun. You capitalize that when you’re writing. Start again.”

Harry patiently set aside the errored page and took another, starting as instructed.

“Dearest Mother…” Draco repeated. “I am enclosing the directions to an eccentric wand maker named Mr. Giordano. He resides within the country, so as not to violate Father’s parole – make sure you capitalize ‘Father’,” he reminded Harry. “It is my hope that Father will go to him and be matched to a wand, so he can face death with dignity…so he may die a wizard, still capable of magic, instead of…” Draco’s voice cracked and he leaned over his desk, resting his forehead on fisted hands. 

The purposeful crumpling of expensive paper dragged Draco’s attention. He peered to the side and watched Harry begin to write anew: _Dearest Mother, I am unable to reveal my source, but below I transcribe the prophecy in full._ “What are you doing?!” Draco demanded. He put a hand overtop of Harry’s to prevent him from continuing.

“What does it look like?” Harry said quietly. There was determination in his eyes.

Draco whispered, “My father may be a dead man, but you can’t feed him misinformation to further some scheme of Dumbledore’s.”

“I wouldn’t do that.”

There was a long pause as the boys stared at each other. “The prophecy was destroyed,” Draco said. 

“And there are only two people in the world who know its entirety. Dumbledore, and myself.”

Draco felt the adrenaline hit him hard as the possibility of _saving his father_ became clear. “I can’t un-know this,” Draco warned. “If you write this, and change your mind, I can’t not use it.”

“It’s a good thing I’m sure then.”

Draco took his hand away. “Harry,” he whispered as the boy wrote. “This could damage our chances in the war.”

“You saying ‘our’ proves I’m right. Welcome to the Order of the Phoenix, Draco Malfoy. Now shut up, I’m trying to sound fancy.”

Draco watched in awe as Harry wrote, and was terrified that Harry was making a huge mistake...

_The first stanza is the portion that The Dark Lord already knows; including this will confirm to him the legitimacy of the second stanza. I trust Father can come up with a convincing narrative to how he obtained this information; perhaps a tale of extracting it from --_

“How do you spell ‘professor’? Two ‘f’s?” Harry asked.

“One ‘f’ and two ‘s’es,” Draco said.

_\-- from Professor Trelawney, the original seer, or having used Occlumency against Harry Potter._  
_Stanza I: The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches…born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies.  
Stanza II: and the Dark Lord—_

“Harry,” Draco interrupted. Harry looked up at him. “…I’m so scared that you’ll regret this.”

“If it saves your father, I won’t.” 

Draco gave a tiny nod. Harry continued:

_\--will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not. Either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives. The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies._

_Please keep me informed of any new developments._

“How do you sign off?”

“I typically use ‘In devotion and eternal love, Your son, Draco’.”

Harry grinned at him. “It’s never easy with you, is it? Can’t just be ‘with love’, now could it?”

Draco grinned back. “Love is worth a little effort.”

“That we can agree on.” Harry turned back to the paper and wrote Draco’s closing phrase. He gave the letter to Draco.

Draco stared at the prophecy, barely able to believe he was reading it. “Wait…you said only you and Dumbledore know this? Not Ron and Hermione?”

“Nope.”

“Why?”

Harry shook his head. “They can’t know. It would scare them to see my potential death laid out in prophecy.”

Draco studied the words carefully. “Power the Dark Lord knows not….the Switch?”

Harry nodded. “I think so.”

Draco committed the prophecy to memory, knowing his analytical mind would want to pick it apart another time. The thought that Harry would sacrifice this to save his father… “Were the world mine,” he murmured.

“Pardon?”

Draco smiled. “It’s a pureblood saying. Were the world mine to give you, I could still never requite what you’ve given me.” He folded the paper and instructed Harry how to address the envelope. “I can’t believe you’re really doing this. After everything my father’s done…”

“It doesn’t matter what he’s done,” Harry insisted. “He’s your _dad_ , and I’m not going to let him die.”

The kiss caught them both by surprise. Somewhere between Draco leaning forward and Harry closing his eyes, ignorant of the inevitability of moon and tide, Draco kissed him only knowing that he needed to communicate the intensity inside him. 

Like any magic, it was the intention that made it powerful.

Harry indulged in shock for only a second before kissing back. His mind spun, blurring the world around him into indistinguishable colour and only the center of his thoughts clear: Draco. He reached out to cup the back of the boy’s head. _There could never be a greater intimacy,_ Harry realized hazily, _than feeling everything Draco would feel, and knowing with god-like accuracy how to make him feel good in return._

It was a long time before they gently pulled back. Despite his insecurity, for once Draco didn’t feel the need to avert his eyes. He smiled at the way Harry looked at him. “I should mail this,” he murmured, still not looking away.

“Yeah,” Harry agreed softly, wondering how his heart will ever calm after tonight.

“I’ll see you in the morning…” Draco said. He made no effort to move.

“Yeah…”

Draco’s smile widened at the effect he had on Harry. He picked up the letter and pouch, and stood to leave.

It wasn’t until Draco reached the door that Harry said, “Draco?” 

Draco turned to look at him. 

Harry smiled. “Were the world mine.”


	16. A Mother's Concern

**AUTHOR’S NOTE: Trigger warning: depictions of rape.  
* Thank you for reviewing! Reviews are motivational! * **

**Chapter Sixteen: A Mother’s Concern**

* * * 

Morning came.

Harry had never slept so well in his life. He was smiling before he woke, and felt the warm light of bliss fill him. He ran his fingertips along the green and silver tie Draco had secured to his pillow. It felt so intimate and soothing.

“Harry,” Ron said, gruffly awkward. “We gotta talk, mate--” he pushed Harry’s curtain open.

“Don’t--” Harry started, but he was too late.

“Oh, bloody hell,” Ron swore loudly. He stepped forward and swooshed the curtain closed around them, keeping their conversation private. “What the shit is that?” He demanded, pointing at the tie. “Has HE been up here?!”

“Ask me as my friend and I might tell you,” Harry growled, sitting up. “Can you at least let me wake up fully before jumping me?”

“I’m not--”

“Yeah you are. You’d kill any bloke who threw your curtains open like that!”

“You’ve never cared before.”

“I care now.”

“Harry,” Ron gave an aggravated sigh. “This isn’t how I wanted this to go.”

“And how did you want this to go?” The question came in Draco’s characteristic drawl by accident. Harry saw the flash in Ron’s eyes, but he glared defiantly at his friend. 

“I wanted us to agree to make time to talk,” he said. He couldn’t help glaring hatefully at the obscene piece of Slytherin silk. “But I don’t know if it can wait, if you’re romancing him so hard that you’re sleeping with his laundry.”

“You’re too late,” Harry said with a slow, predatory smile. He wanted to strike at Ron, vindictive at his continuing ignorance. “He kissed me last night.” Anger flooded Ron’s face. Harry pressed his point, “And I _loved_ it.”

“You’re making a big mistake,” Ron spat. He found his fists clenching, and forced himself to relax and speak calmly. “I don’t want you to hit bottom before you realize it, because ‘bottom’ could be six feet under. What you’re doing is self-destructive, and I’m bloody scared for you!” 

Harry swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood up to face Ron. “Because what you’re doing with Lavender is so healthy?”

Ron stammered, “This isn’t about me!”

“You don’t love her. You love someone else. But you string Lavender along because she’s fun and that kind of dating is just so easy compared to something _real_.” Ron’s jaw opened and shut, his defenses dead before they were formed. Harry stepped closer to Ron. “I have something real. And maybe you’re scared because it forces you to look critically at the challenges I faced to find it versus the challenges you run from to avoid it.” Harry threw his curtains open and yanked his school clothes from the dresser. “You say you wanna talk, but really you just want to hear yourself. If you actually want to listen, let me know.” He stormed into the bathroom and slammed the door shut.

*

Last night, Vince and Greg waited in Draco’s room for his return, and the three of them stayed up discussing what happened. His friends begged Draco to share the prophecy with them, but he was adamant that he couldn’t. Greg helped Draco dissect the logistics of dating Harry Potter, while Vince struggled with great philosophical questions: “Is that still gay, or is it like the Holy Grail of Masturbation?”

Despite having had only two hours of sleep, Draco woke feeling remarkably refreshed. He and Greg had to go help rouse Vince from near-dead sleep. The boy lumbered out at their insistence, grumpy and semi-conscious, the only word he would speak being “Caffeine.”

“Get him upstairs to breakfast, I’ll be right behind you,” Draco said to Greg. He nodded, dragging Vince towards the common room.

Draco returned to his room. He moved slowly to stand in front of the rose hanging on his wall. It looked so smug in its conservation, tightened and sharpened, imposing a claim that now made Draco’s skin crawl. He pulled the stem off the nail. The dry rustle of petals swore at him and threatened to break apart. Draco pulled out his wand and said a silent goodbye. He was surprised at the anger that rose and mixed with the grief and readiness. He breathed it out, and set the rose aflame. 

Carefully adjusting the air around it, he let the flower gently burn in suspension. The withered bloom and stem looked like kindling in the fireplace, blackened with glowing red and gold embers shining throughout. It was so small that he didn’t have long to wait for it to be wrought to soot.

He took a vial from his desk drawer and let the soot fall inside. Sliding his wand back to its holster, he stoppered the vial and slid the glass into his robe pocket. He’d bury it with one of Vince’s knot cords; his friend had a particular talent with rope magic.

Feeling like his room had been cleansed, Draco smiled and walked up to breakfast.

*

The Great Hall was filled with excitement as students discussed tomorrow’s Halloween plans. Ron sat with Lavender on his lap, blatantly ignoring Harry, and listened to her chatter about pure-blood couples costumes they just _had_ to do. Ginny was with her friends, and Harry sat down across from Hermione.

Immediately, Harry’s eyes were drawn to the Slytherin table. There was Crabbe and Goyle, but where was--? And then he saw Draco stride towards his friends. Harry’s heart hiccupped in over-excitement. Draco turned casually as he approached his spot and caught Harry’s eyes. With a wink and a smile, Draco turned and sat down.

Harry felt such pleasurable anticipation to speak with him before class, that he didn’t hear Hermione. 

The girl giggled at the look on his face. “Oh, you do have it bad, don’t you?”

“Sorry, say again?” Harry asked, forcing his attention to her.

“I asked you what you were working on in class lately, and you were a million miles away.”

“Not a million…maybe just twenty feet.” 

Hermione gave a knowing grin. Harry chewed slowly as he steeled himself. He couldn’t very well tell Ron but not tell her. Harry wasn’t used to sharing intimate things, and without the courage that anger lent him he found it much more difficult. “You know how I said yesterday that I wasn’t sure…how he felt.” The smile reached his eyes, and suddenly saying the words was the easiest thing he could do. “I know, now.”

Her eyes widened and the look of shock made Harry laugh. “Harry!” She yelped. She leaned forward insistently, smiling like a kid in her excitement. “You have to tell me _everything_!”

“I will,” he said, “Later, not here.”

“But…alright,” she said. “Give me a hint?”

Harry thought about that. “How do most Disney movies end?”

She covered her mouth. Slowly lowering her hands, she said, “With a kiss.” Harry grinned, said nothing, and continued eating. “Harry James Potter, I need to know right now!”

“Nope.”

“Who initiated, you or…?”

“Or.”

She squealed, gaining the attention of the Patil twins. “Sorry,” she said, grinning hard enough to make her face hurt, and the two friends ate in silence until attention died off. “You can’t leave out anything,” she warned him. 

“Okay,” Harry said.

“I mean it!”

“Okay!” They smiled at each other. “So…about Halloween. Would you still have time to help me put together a costume?”

“Yes of course!” She beamed at him. “What made you change your mind?”

Harry looked purposely at the Slytherin table and allowed an indulgent stare before looking back significantly at Hermione.

“…oh!”

“Yeah.”

“That is too adorable.”

“Thanks?”

After talking about Halloween and Hermione’s extensive research on Samhain traditions (“pronounced ‘sah-win’!” Hermione admonished), Harry blurted out something that was worrying him. “Is Ginny okay?”

Hermione was surprised but recovered gracefully. “She’s okay. It’s just hard for her. You know…she extended herself in Year One with that silly Valentine, and doing it all over again to end with the same rejection is hard.” Hermione gave him a long look. “Was it because of Draco you said ‘no’?”

“Partly,” Harry confessed softly. “I do like her,” he defended. “But hearing her say she wanted to date—it just made everything really _real_. Does that make sense? It made me stop romanticizing the idea of her. Dating Ginny would permanently change the balance between Ron and me and her, and I wasn’t ready for that. I wouldn’t be ‘Ron’s best friend’, I’d be ‘his sister’s boyfriend’.”

“If you’re that worried about Ron, maybe you need to start being more gentle with him.”

“He’s the one who’s being unreasonably judgmental!”

“And you’re the one who dumped hot tea in his groin.”

“He deserved it.”

“He _frequently_ deserves it,” she agreed. She looked down the table, watched Ron rub noses with Lavender. “…But we love him anyway.”

Harry hated to see her in pain. “We had another row this morning,” he said to distract her.

She sighed deeply. “Ron becomes a brick wall when he’s stubborn,” she murmured, still watching Ron and Lavender. She forced herself to look at Harry, and her voice grew stronger. “You’re not going to get through to him by smashing into him,” she lectured. “You have to go around his wall. It means patience, it means kindness. But it’s the only way you two can meet on common ground.”

Harry nodded. “I’ll think on that. I promise.” He’d say anything to make her feel better.

*

Harry and Draco always had a passionate relationship, whether it was as rivals, friends, or…whatever this was becoming. Harry knew it was only one kiss, but he felt intuitively that it was more than that. A chrysalis had broken open.

Harry entered the Dynamics classroom to find Draco leaning against the front line of desks. Draco smoothly stepped forward and stalked towards Harry. “Two thirty-eight,” he said, smile sultry.

“What’s that mean?” Harry asked. He had a flashback to their showdown in Dueling Club as they slowly walked towards each other, maintaining unflinching eye contact, adrenaline and anticipation swooping at dizzying heights.

“It’s how long you kept me waiting. Two minutes, thirty-eight seconds.” Draco now stood directly in front of Harry. “It’s how much time you owe me.” The Slytherin gripped the scarlet and gold tie in front of him and pulled Harry closer.

Harry couldn’t help the grin as he murmured from memory, “Scared, Potter?”

Draco chuckled and recited, “You wish.”

Harry captured his mouth in a kiss. Draco ran a hand through his hair, the way Harry had often seen Pansy run her fingers through it, and felt a pleasurable shudder down his back. Huh. He never would have realized how much Draco liked that. _I guess that’s why she’s always playing with his hair,_ he thought. As exotic and private as it was feeling the reactions within Draco’s body, Harry wished they weren’t Switched and that he could truly be kissing Draco’s lips. 

Harry pushed the wish aside and soaked in the miracle of being with Draco, of Draco wanting him.

When Draco pulled back, Harry smiled and said, “I may never be on time again.”

Draco grinned. “You had better. There are some days when you’ll want me to owe you.”

The door opened and Remus paused delicately at seeing his students. _Were they just--?_ Draco released Harry’s tie and Harry blushed. _Yes, yes they were._ Remus grinned. He wondered if Harry was old enough to tell him about That One Time when James and Sirius got really drunk and slept together. He watched his students return to their desks, saw how bashful Harry was, and decided to wait a little longer.

“Good morning,” he teased gently. Harry wondered why accidental magic wouldn’t oblige him and let him disappear from Remus’s knowing look. Draco was smugly pleased.

It was one hour into Remus’s class lecture when the door opened.

Narcissa Malfoy stepped inside, heels clicking like the steady beat of an executioner’s drum.

Draco immediately stood, polite pure-blood training automatic. “Mo—” he managed to catch the word ‘mother’ before it left. He stammered. “—Mrs. Malfoy….”

“Sit,” she commanded imperiously. He obeyed. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion: why was Harry Potter granting her entrance respects and obedience? Moving just her eyes, she looked frostily at her son, _who was still sitting in his desk._

Draco kicked Harry’s ankle. Harry stood, awkwardly, mumbled “Hullo, uh, mother,” and sat back down like a dropped sack of potatoes.

Narcissa’s lips pinched into a fine line and her eyebrows rose high into her forehead. “Draco,” she said, icicles hanging on every vowel. “What in the seven hells are you doing in a Gryffindor uniform?”

Harry and Draco lost their breath as they sat motionless, thoughts racing to come up with something, anything…

“Lady Malfoy,” Remus interjected. “You’ve stepped into the middle of our current lesson. This is an elite sub-set of Defense Against the Dark Arts, focusing on Battle Strategy. This week, you’ll see Harry over there is learning about Slytherin, and Draco as you’ve pointed out is discovering Gryffindor. Next week, Harry will be Ravenclaw and Draco in Hufflepuff, and so on and so forth. The objective is to understand the mindset of your enemy; the Hogwarts House system seemed like a simple start.”

Narcissa tilted her chin up to look down on him. “Aren’t you that diseased mutt my husband had fired three years ago?” Remus felt his ribs tighten in shame. Narcissa gave a grim smile of satisfaction as her words hit their mark. “You have no right to be in this school. I should report you.” She let the threat hang briefly before returning her attention to the students. “Draco. Come with me. We have much to discuss.”

Harry looked at Draco, panicked. 

“With all due respect, I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” Remus said gently. “We’re about to begin an exam. Perhaps if you could return after lunch--” He hoped he could buy Harry enough time that they could plan a way to help him fake through a conversation with Lady Malfoy.

Her sharp gaze turned apoplectic. “I don’t care about the plans concocted by someone who, like any dog, spends the better part of his day licking his own bollocks and eating his own shit,” Narcissa hissed. “I am here on urgent family business and _I am taking my son_.”

Draco had seldom heard his mother swear; while normally he would be proud to see her so completely destroy someone on his behalf, he knew it was a sign that she was about to lose it if things didn’t de-escalate soon. “Go, let her do the talking,” Draco whispered as Remus tried insisting on the importance of this exam.

“What?!” Harry could face dragons and Dark Lords, but he was no good at lying, and he had no idea how to deal with an angry mother that didn’t involve hiding in a cupboard.

Narcissa whipped to face her ‘son’, her dress violently _swooshing_ , and said, “Draco, we’re leaving. Now.”

Harry stood up. 

Narcissa’s nose wrinkled. “As for that disgraceful uniform--” With a flick of her wand, she charmed his tie and robes to Slytherin colours. He realized she had also removed the wrinkles, straightened his tie, and buffed his shoes. Harry felt the reprimand in everything she fixed.

He followed her, glancing back at Draco quickly, praying he wouldn’t screw this up too badly.

Walking side-by-side with Narcissa Malfoy through the halls of Hogwarts was surreal, and the silence was making Harry nervous. “Where should we talk?” He asked.

She looked at him quizzically. “Where do you think?”

_Great. Three seconds in and I’ve already blown it._ Harry tried to change topics. “I was shocked to see you.”

“We’ll discuss everything momentarily.”

He took the hint and resumed walking in silence with her. 

Harry’s nervousness increased when they exited the castle and began walking across the grounds towards the gates….where the apparition restrictions were lifted. She didn’t just want to talk, she wanted to take him away from Hogwarts. Harry discretely unsheathed his wand. He remembered the decapitated snake someone sent to the Malfoys, trying to alert them to the Switch. It would be so easy for Lucius to have his wife order their ‘son’ home, and simply hand Harry over to Voldemort. Is that why she was so edgy? Harry griped his wand tighter and wondered where she would take him.

As they stepped beyond the gates, Narcissa held her arm out stiffly for him to grasp for side-along apparition. Harry obliged.

A soft _pop_ and Harry felt the blackness move through him, his body rippling from one place to another.

They landed at their destination, some sort of classical Greek garden. Harry readied himself for attack—

Narcissa hugged him. 

Harry was stunned. She held him for a long time, her stiffness melting as she warmed to his touch, and he had no idea what to do. He settled for hugging her in return.

“My boy,” She sighed in his ear. “I came as soon as I could without alerting your father.” She pulled back from him, hands open-palmed and sliding from his shoulder blades to hold his biceps. “I got your owl. You need to explain how you learned the prophecy.”

“I can’t,” Harry said. He frantically tried to think of what Draco would say. “It would put you in danger.”

“You let me worry about that,” she said. “It’s my job to protect you. Not the other way around.”   
The simple, parental statement made Harry feel young and small in a way he hadn’t felt before. She brushed a wisp of his hair out of his face and let her other hand slide from holding his arm down to entwining with his hand. She turned silently, and he held her hand and let her lead him to a stone bench in front of a fountain. 

They sat, and she put their folded hands to rest on her knee. “Start at the beginning,” she instructed.

Harry lowered his eyes. “I really can’t explain…”

“My little fire-breather, this is non-negotiable.”

Harry grinned: Draco the Dragon, mummy’s little fire-breather. Oh, he couldn’t wait to get back to Hogwarts knowing that…

“Sweetheart, you know I love you. I trust you implicitly. You’re an intelligent young man, and I am so proud of the accomplishments you’ve made and who you’ve become.” She paused. Harry squirmed, deeply uncomfortable. “Draco, look at me.” Harry met her gaze. “This information means life and death,” she said slowly. “I have to know how you got it. If you’ve miscalculated its accuracy in any way…” She paused delicately. “I want the blame to be mine for not catching it, and for you to never bear any guilt.”

“It’s accurate,” Harry insisted.

“I must be the judge of that.”

Harry hesitated, unsure how to word what. “I didn’t tell you about the Battle Strategies class with Professor Lupin.” He turned slightly so he could face her better. “There’s a reason I couldn’t trust an owl to carry news of this particular class, led by an alumni member of the Order of the Phoenix, with its only other pupil the Chosen One.” He saw concern well in her eyes and he reflexively squeezed her hand in comfort. His body, on some level, remembered where it came from and couldn’t bear to see her pain.

“Are you in the Order?” she asked fearfully.

“You can claim plausible deniability if I don’t answer that.”

Narcissa smiled with quaking lips and brought a hand to cover her mouth. Her sleeve, billowed at the elbow, fell back from her forearm and Harry realized a great truth he had never known before.

“…you never took the Dark Mark,” he breathed. He spoke quickly, “Your sister is the Dark Lord’s favourite warrior, your husband a loyal follower from the start. And you…never…took the Mark.”

Narcissa lowered her hand. “Well, how could I,” she said with a trembling voice, “When my other sister married into a muggle family?” She swallowed hard. “You shouldn’t be put into active allegiance for either side, you’re just a _boy_ …” She sighed. “But so is Harry Potter.”

“He and I have grown close. When I told him about father’s fate, Harry gave me the prophecy to save him. You can’t get a more accurate source than that.”

A soft, wistful smile like new rain fell upon her face. “Do you remember your First Year of Hogwarts?” Harry was confused about this turn in conversation. He said nothing. “You wrote to us every week, pages on pages lamenting how Harry Potter wouldn’t be your friend, chronicling his every move, asking us how to get his attention.” She took a sharp breath in, the way one does when tears have laid siege to the voice, eyes, and lungs for too long without winning. “And now you finally got him. And I am so scared for you…”

He hugged her. He had no idea Draco had taken his rejection so close to heart. He decided he had better not comment on it. “I’ll be okay. And now, we can save father.”

She clutched onto him. “My sweet boy,” she whispered. They stayed like this for a long time, and Harry found himself relaxed in her embrace. She smelled familiar, even though he had never been close enough to smell her before, and her arms felt safe. “I love you so much.” 

“You too,” Harry said, unsure if Draco would have replied with something so simple but uncertain how else to respond. 

“Promise me something,” she said. “Take care of the person I love.”

Harry smiled and thought of Draco. “I promise.”

*

Draco and Remus spent the time throwing themselves into complex theological discussion, trying to distract themselves from their shared worry. Remus was impressed that Draco could not only keep up with him, but often chased his thoughts further than they had gone before. The boy may be a spoiled little shit, but it was clear he was a hard worker and an academic.

Harry walked in. 

“What happened?” Draco asked quickly. 

Harry shook his head and sat down at his seat. “She was just worried,” he said. He turned to Draco. “She loves you very much.”

Draco smiled. “I know.”

“What was she worried about?” Remus asked.

Harry cringed. He knew Remus wouldn’t understand why he did what he did. “Someone owled the Malfoys with a decapitated snake, painted in Gryffindor colours and some symbol for ‘Prince’. She thought it may have been a warning that Harry Potter was coming after her son.” Harry soothed himself by justifying that it wasn’t a _lie_ , exactly, just the truth out of order…

When lunch time came, Remus briskly left the classroom to let his students linger before heading to the Great Hall. He guessed they would want some alone-time. He smiled, shaking his head, and began thinking up the letter he would send Tonks about all this.

Harry took the opportunity to fill Draco in on what really happened when he spoke with Narcissa. 

“Do you think you convinced her?” Draco asked. 

“Yeah, I did--don’t worry, ‘little fire-breather’.”

Draco swore, resorting to multiple languages when he couldn’t think of any new English words, and Harry laughed. 

*

“I don’t understand why I couldn’t have slept in my own room,” Pansy complained again to Madam Pomfrey. She sat on the patient bed, anxious to get out of the nightdress Madam Pomfrey had dressed her in when she was first admitted to the medic ward. She hated used clothes. It was obscene, fabric pressing into naked flesh from countless students. The thought was distressing to her. “You said I was medically clear last night.”

“And as far as I could tell at that point, you were.”

“…wait, what?”

Madam Pomfrey smiled. “On paper, you appeared fully healed. But the mind is tricky; it can give the right diagnostic numbers and still surprise us. I wanted to monitor your sleep to make sure there were no cracks in your subconscious.”

Pansy gaped. “Why didn’t you tell me?!”

“Because the knowledge might give you nightmares and skew my testing.”

The girl fumed in resignation. Swallowing her pride, she accepted the situation and asked, “Did anything turn up overnight?”

“No, dear. However, you may be surprised to learn it's nearly lunchtime.”

Pansy winced. Being a morning person, she could hardly believe she slept so long. “I guess I needed it,” she said.

“Yes, you most certainly did.”

Pansy stood. “Well, if that’s everything, I suppose I had better get changed and go down for lunch…” she needed out of this nightdress right now.

“There is one more thing,” Madam Pomfrey said solemnly.

Pansy tried to hide her impatience. She had to figure out a way to get Draco to face what happened and confide in her, she had to plot what to do with Blaise…She had plans.

“…you’re pregnant.”

Two words, and her entire world tilted on its axis. Pansy sat down, the vertigo of a shifting world hitting her hard.

“I did a full diagnostic on you, and discovered…well. It’s still very early. You have options…”

*

Harry arrived at the Great Hall and sat down with Hermione. He glanced down the table and found Ron with his hand creeping across Lavender’s knee, under her skirt. Harry rolled his eyes. 

“You wouldn’t believe the utter entrapment Snape set for us in his Defense class,” Hermione fumed. “It was entirely against the books!”

Harry grimaced for her. “Sounds like Snape, alright.”

She launched into recounting his crimes. Her explanation was interrupted midway by cheers resounding across the Slytherin table. The rest of the school looked up, curious.

Pansy walked in, blushing at the attention but holding her head up proudly, and walked towards her seat.

“What’s that about?” Hermione asked.

“She was hurt bad,” Harry said. “It could have been permanent. But it looks like she’s okay.” He smiled to see Draco leap up to greet her.

Pansy hurried her step at seeing Draco, and he rushed to her and picked her up. She felt a lump in her throat at his adoration. She wrapped her arms around his neck as he swung her full circle and set her gently down. Feeling the brink of tears, she kissed him so she could blink them deeply away before they were noticed.

The Gryffindors hadn’t seen Draco in Harry’s body kissing Pansy before, and the majority of them started boo-ing and throwing food, cutlery, or balled up napkins at the pair.

A fifth year Slytherin girl quickly cast charms so every projectile was transfigured into a perfect red rose.

Draco caught a rose in his hand and smiled. “Thanks, Gryffindor!” He gave the rose to Pansy, who smiled at his cheekiness. He slipped his arm through hers and led her to sit down.

Draco looked across the table at Crabbe and Goyle and quietly said, “I want the name of whomever cast the rose transfigurations.”

“On it,” Vince said, grabbing a chicken leg and lumbering further down the bench to make inquiries.

Draco nodded. He had a debt to repay to his mysterious ally. 

Hermione looked anxiously at Harry. “You okay?”

“Yeah, of course,” Harry said.

“But, they were just kissing?”

“It’s a show,” Harry said quietly, leaning in to talk to her.

“But, they slept together?”

“Yeah, once,” Harry said with a brief wrinkle in his nose. “But he doesn’t have romantic feelings for her. This is all show.”

"And you're okay with that? I mean, do you honestly want to be someone’s secret?”

Harry laughed. “Hermione, this is so much better for me!” At her confused look, he continued, “Don’t you remember Rita Skeeter during Fourth Year when she thought you and I were dating?!”

“How could I forget?” Hermione rolled her eyes. Memories of that time still made her stomach tighten.

“Well, I got a break from the press last year because they thought I was lying and not newsworthy any longer. This year, they’re hailing me as ‘The Chosen One’. They’d be all over me if they thought I was dating someone…let alone a boy…let alone a Death Eater’s son…oh god, and they’d be interviewing ‘Harry Potter’ which means Draco in my body. Can you imagine!? Draco in a press conference as me?”

“I would pay to see that.”

“No!” Harry laughed. “Seriously though, the Hogwarts Secret wouldn’t stop someone from tipping off the Daily Prophet that Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy were seeing each other. It would be a disaster.”

“Did I just hear right?!” Seamus asked.

“Confundus,” Hermione cast discretely. Seamus’s eyes glazed over.

“Hear right about what?” Neville prodded.

Seamus stared at Harry, thought and memory sliding like water through fingers. “…Harry’s ….seeing someone!” He said triumphantly.

“In that case, no, you didn’t hear right,” Harry said.

“No, you definitely said…” he struggled. “… _something_.”

“A little early in the day to be spiking the pumpkin juice, isn’t it?” Neville teased his friend.

Seamus grinned and gave a little shrug. 

Hermione smiled smugly and put her wand away. She waited another minute for Seamus to get wrapped up in conversation with Neville again before she asked Harry, “So are you two official? Did you talk this morning?”

“No, we didn’t talk,” Harry said. He waited for the look of disappointment to fully fall across her features before adding, “We spent the morning snogging until Remus walked in and nearly caught us.”

“What!” 

Harry grinned.

“You’re killing me, Harry. You know this, right?” Hermione huffed. “I pride myself on knowing the answers to every topic I’m interested in, and I know almost nothing about this, and it’s killing me.”

“I met his mother today.”

“You _what?!_ ” Her squeal increased an octave and Seamus glanced over at them again. He experienced that nagging sensation when you feel you left the stove on even though you know logically you didn’t. He felt he was missing something he should have caught, but he couldn’t think of what it could be…

“Later, I promise,” Harry said, noticing Seamus’s attention.

“You’re doing this on purpose.”

“Yep.”

She groaned. “If you don’t tell me soon, I’ll be forced to attempt girl talk with Pansy.”

Harry stared at her blankly. “I just thought about the two of you becoming friends.” He paused. “…I’m pretty sure you two would take over the world together.”

Hermione gave a tentative smile. The other girls in her year couldn’t stand her leadership, and from day one called her a know-it-all bitch. In fact, the only girls that talked to her were Ginny and Luna, and Ginny was a jock and Luna was a little crazy. Having another girl as a friend, who’s in her own year, who shared her interest in academics…she refused to admit even to herself how badly she wanted that. “I don’t really know anything about her, except that she’s good in her classes and she’s publically dating Ma--Draco,” Hermione said. “Sorry,” she added, embarrassed at her slip.

“It’s okay,” Harry said. He was so glad she was trying. “I’m still learning about her, honestly. But from what I can tell, she’s clever, she’s dead-loyal to her friends, and she’s really good at creative problem-solving.”

“She sounds worth getting to know better,” Hermione said. “If she ever eases up on muggle-borns, let me know.”

Harry winced. “I don’t know her stance,” he admitted.

Hermione shrugged, trying to pretend it didn’t bother her. “If you can turn Draco around, I’m sure the two of you can gang up on her.”

*

At the Slytherin table, Draco couldn’t stop smiling. Everything was so good; Harry was interested in him, his father was about to be saved, Pansy was fully healed and at his side... “I banished Thomasin,” Draco told her. “I wanted to make it in perpetuity, but Greg pointed out that my obvious favoritism wouldn’t be accepted by our House.” He smirked at Goyle, who smirked back at him.

“That didn’t stop you from doling out the longest sentence I’ve ever heard of,” Greg said.

Pansy smiled. “Really?”

“Two months,” Draco announced.

Pansy almost dropped her fork. “Draco!”

“He won’t be able to interact with anyone until after winter hols.” He grinned at the look of shock on her face. “I explained he deliberately committed an act that had an 80% chance of causing severe, life-long mental damage. The House agreed with my verdict.”

Pansy gave a low whistle. “Blaise must be furious.”

“Blaise can go lick a giant,” Draco snarled.

Pansy watched him for a moment, making sure she had his complete attention, before gently saying, “It’s good to see you angry with him.”

The colour drained from Draco’s face as her words sunk in. “…You know.”

Pansy nodded. “We don’t have to discuss it now,” she said, turning her attention back to her lunch. “But I’ve had a House-Elf leave something for you in your bedroom. Promise me you’ll attend to it tonight?”

“…Okay,” Draco agreed quietly. He avoided Greg’s questioning look.

*

Pansy insisted on walking Draco to class. She was surprised with how needy she felt—after listening to Madam Pomfrey lay out all her…options…the only thing she wanted was to curl up like cats with her best friend. 

And perhaps under the excuse of recovering from her injury, she could. But Pansy wouldn’t breathe a word to Draco about her condition, not yet. She needed some answers first.

They arrived at the Dynamics room, and Pansy felt a wave of separation anxiety. She smiled bravely. “I’m off to make some last minute Samhain arrangements.”

Draco grinned. “Funny, I had some of those to send away for this morning.”

“I know that look,” Pansy said. “Harry gets that look every time he’s about to beat you in Quidditch.”

“Let’s just say I caught the snitch, but the scoreboard has yet to add the points.”

“What are you planning?”

“It’s all in place,” Draco said slyly. “And if it works the way I know it will, I’ll tell you after tomorrow.”

Harry walked up and saw Draco and Pansy standing outside class together. “Hey, Pansy,” Harry said, purposely using her first name. “It’s good to see you back.”

“It’s good to be back,” she said. “Thanks.”

“I’ll be a minute,” Draco said to Harry apologetically.

“Alright. I’ll just go inside….and wait.” Harry said, the last two words dipping low and suggestive. Draco grinned at Harry’s reference and the boys kept eye contact as Harry entered the classroom. The door swung shut and Draco felt a breath fall from his lips.

Pansy’s eyes widened. “Are you two--?!”

Draco looked around quickly. “Yes.”

The girl shook her head. “It’s about time!”

“What?!”

“Oh please,” Pansy laughed. “You’ve been mooning over him since First Year.”

“I have not!” Draco said indignantly.

“Ohh, yes you have,” Pansy crowed. “We have so much to talk about. You, me, girls night?”

“That sounds divine,” Draco said. He leaned over and kissed her lightly goodbye before walking into class.

The door had barely clicked closed behind him when Harry pressed Draco firmly up against it. “Twenty-four seconds,” Harry said, taking Draco’s face in his hands. Draco closed his eyes, his mouth slightly parting as Harry kissed him. He reached out and griped Harry’s waist under his robes, encouraging the boy to pin him harder against the door. 

As Draco pulled him closer, Harry trusted the momentum and pressed his knee between Draco’s legs. A sharp pant from Draco, and suddenly Harry felt teeth on his bottom lip. Draco tugged, and a small moan escaped Harry. Their kisses were bruising, claims laid with swollen lips.

Harry stopped and stepped back.

The sudden break confused Draco. “Why…”

“Twenty-four seconds,” Harry answered sweetly and walked to his desk.

Draco was stunned. “You—you don’t have to make it so exact!”

“You made the rules, not me.”

“Playing innocent now, is that it angel-prat?” 

“It’s what I do.”

Draco shook his head. “My vengeance will be swift and terrible.”

Remus walked in. Draco slid into his seat and repeated softly to Harry, “Swift, and terrible.”

Remus was pretty sure this was the second time in one day he had nearly walked in on his students. _Well, when else are they allowed time to be alone together without the eyes of the entire school on them?_ The insight made him feel a little compassion for their situation, and he decided that from now on he would be five minutes late to every class. 

*

Pansy opened the circular trap door above her head and climbed into Professor Trelawney’s Divination room.

“You’re late.”

Pansy jumped at the words and was immediately furious. “I’m sneaking in here! I can’t be ‘late’!” Pansy hissed at her accuser.

Sybil Trelawney stepped out from behind a dusty shelving unit. She held a stick of incense and piously moved to the last corner of the room to complete her cleansing ritual. “You’re late because you were expected.”

Pansy felt a faint blush of embarrassment creep high in her cheeks. She hadn’t realized Professor Trelawney would remain in her classroom when she had no session. Curiosity overcoming her manners, Pansy asked, “Expected?”

“Expected, and expecting.”

Pansy froze.

The Professor chuckled. “Two types of late.”

“How…?”

“My dear child,” Professor Trelawney set down the incense. “You know how. You came here to use the very same ‘how’ to serve yourself.”

“But you’re…” 

“A fraud?” Professor Trelawney smiled. “Yes, one of the best, really.” She swooped to sit in an antique parlor couch. She patted the spot beside her. There were two teacups waiting them.

Pansy stepped forward and sat. She noticed that the Professor’s teacup held what smelt like whiskey.

“When I gave the prophecy about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and The Chosen One, Dumbledore knew I’d be tortured and left for dead within the week.” She took a swallow from her teacup. “He offered me protection. The only way to keep the Death Eaters from thinking I could be valuable to them was if they believed the prophecy was a one-time-only situation, that I was a charlatan who got lucky once. He said if I were willing to commit to my role, he would hire me and make Hogwarts my home.” She smiled. “A gifted prophet, playing the fool all her life. Yes, I truly am one of the best frauds I know.” 

“Why are you telling me?” Pansy asked.

Professor Trelawney’s magnified eyes became even larger. “Because you are interesting,” she said. “You have a dynamic path, and I want to help. I’ve told only two others before you, both Hufflepuffs long graduated now. I share my story when I want the student to know, without doubt, that I am helping them to my best ability and exactly _what that means_.”

“…you haven’t told Harry?”

Professor Trelawney laughed. “Harry Potter! Oh, gods, no!” She finished the rest of her whiskey and pulled the bottle from underneath the couch to refill her cup. “No, no, no. If I told him, he would constantly doubt his own decisions and cry to me for validation. He already relies on Ms. Granger to complete over half his homework assignments, imagine if he thought he could get ‘the right answers’ about the future by asking someone else.” She giggled. “No.” She took a dainty sip from her cup. “But the chance to do real work, that’s special to me. Feigning incompetence is boring. I admit, I try to spice it up when I can—” she drank from her cup, and Pansy politely did the same. Hers was a smoky black tea she wasn’t familiar with. “It’s fun, purposely infuriating students like Ms. Granger, who doubt the art of Divination. They’re so easy to rile up. Severus and I swap stories about who we make cry, or who drops out of our classes.” She smiled fondly. “But, nevertheless! The chance to do something real, that’s something I can’t pass up.” She set her teacup down.

Pansy felt a wave of respect for the lengths this woman would go to in order to survive. “I came to sign up for your private Divination readings during Samhain,” she confessed.

“I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” The Professor leaned toward her. Pansy had the uncanny feeling that a crocodile had turned its attention on her. “I won’t sign you up. No one will know a thing. My official volunteer duties for school readings will end at nine in the evening. You will be in my Tower at ten. I’ll give you a Hall Pass for that sour little gnat, Filch. And we can pour over everything for as long as we need.” She smiled. Pansy breathed a sigh of relief. This was the most perfect plan she could have hoped for. “In return,” the Professor said smoothly, “I want you to have a friend of yours sign up for one of my official Samhain sessions.”

“Why?” 

“You’re asking the wrong question.”

Pansy paused. “…Who?”

Professor Trelawney grinned. “Vincent Crabbe.”

*

It was after dinner when Draco went to his bedroom. A vial stood on his bedside table, containing marbled silver-blue liquid, and a note attached by string. It read: _You silenced the school because you couldn’t say it, and you couldn’t hear it. Maybe you need to see it. Love, Pansy._

Draco closed his eyes.

She left him a pensieve of what she saw in Blaise’s mind.

This…wouldn’t be his own memory of what happened. This would be how Blaise saw it. _Do I really want to know how Blaise remembers it?_ The idea sent slivers of fear under his fingernails. But he needed to learn exactly what Pansy had seen.

He opened his eyes and took the vial to his desk, sat down in front of his pensieve, and poured the memory. There was a brief moment where the memory fluttered and fogged, before finally settling into place. He griped the armrests tightly, and leaned his face into the pensieve.

_Draco stood in a void white space. There was a screech like the agonized breaking of a train, and the void was scratched violently away to reveal the scene. Draco realized the unusual entry to this memory was a remnant from Thomasin’s attack on Pansy: she retained the memory, but was left with signs of damage._

_Blaise laid over top of Draco and was grinding his hips into the boy, pinning Draco’s hands to his sides. Draco jerked his face away and said, “I don’t want this.”_

_Draco watched and swallowed hard. His heart broke to see Harry, his Harry, and know what would happen to him._

To me, _he reminded himself. He shook his head, heart pounding._

_Blaise kissed Draco’s neck. “You need to relax.” The train howled somewhere in the background._

_“Blaise,” Draco said, panic in his voice. “I didn’t come for this.”_

_“You don’t want to be alone,” Blaise said. He sat up with a knowing smugness Draco didn’t remember him showing. “So get up and go now, or stay with me. And be with me.”_

_“I can’t…” Draco said weakly._

_“You don’t have to do a thing,” Blaise purred, removing his belt. “I’ll do all the work. You just relax. Let me take care of you.”_

_“I don’t…” Hot tears rolled down Draco’s face._

_“Shh,” Blaise whispered. “It’ll be okay.” The train volume increased, hitting the words hard. The scene spilled open, whiteness bleaching everything away, and with the alarm of the train whistle Draco was injected back into a later point in the memory._

_“—it’ll be more fun this way,” Blaise insisted. Tears still wet Draco’s face, and his eyes were large and uncertain. “I promised you wouldn’t have to do a thing,” he continued, tightening the rope around his wrists. “And this way, you can just lay there.”_

_A train, metal on metal grating off each other, creating an otherworldly cry. The scene was pulled away in strips to deliver Draco further along in the memory._

_Both boys were naked. “I said not that,” Draco repeated as Blaise pressed a finger to his opening._

_Was Blaise_ smiling?! _Draco wanted to vomit._

_“Okay,” Blaise said, pumping Draco’s cock harder and running his other hand up and down his thigh. It was only a minute before his hand returned, and this time he was able to press his finger inside._

_“Blaise, stop it,” Draco said, but the words came out small as the pleasure from his cock interfered. Blaise chuckled._

_As Draco watched this scene, he wanted to curse Blaise for laughing at him. Rage stormed in his chest._

_“You don’t know what you want,” Blaise said._

_“Not that,” Draco moaned._

_“No?” Blaise grinned. “How about this?” He pressed a second finger inside him._

_Draco squeezed his eyes tight and said, “Blaise, I mean it.”_

_“You feel so good,” Blaise crooned. “I finally understand your stupid little crush on Potter. This body responds so fucking well. It’s like it was waiting for me.”_

_“I…”_

_“It’s okay; be comfortable feeling his reactions. Close your eyes, and pretend you’re the one doing this to him.”_

_More tears, as Draco knew he could never be with Harry; he chose Ginny. “I don’t want that,” he denied. “And I don’t want this!”_

_“I know what you want,” Blaise said. He released Draco’s cock and took his own._

_“No—Blaise! You promised!”_

_“You need to work through your inhibitions. It’s okay. I’ll help you.”_

_“Blaise, please…Blaise!”_

_Draco tried to squirm to one side, tried to kick or buck Blaise away. He was yanking hard enough on his restraints that his wrists burned and bruised._

_“Shh,” Blaise said warningly._

_“Stop!”_

_“Silencio.”_

_Horrified, Draco found his voice taken. He tried to bring up the power of the Switch, but that involves releasing control and he was desperately trying to force it. It would not come to him._

_Blaise rubbed the head of his cock against Draco. Watching this memory, Draco could see his ex’s face for the first time during this act: he was enjoying it. Blaise rammed himself in, and Draco’s mouth opened in shock. The scream of the train emitted the sound his past self couldn’t make._

_All the fight left him and Draco laid limp as Blaise pumped over him. “Fuck, your little Golden Boy feels amazing,” he panted. “He’s a born cock-slut.” It wasn’t long before he was coming. He stayed inside Draco as the last of his seed dripped, and he cast a charm his mother had taught him during his Preparation: a semi-legal sex magic spell to make a man come with a single word. Draco closed his eyes in shame as the unwanted orgasm ripped through his body and he felt Harry’s seed cover his belly._

_Blaise sighed and picked up his wand. He leaned back, devouring Draco with his eyes, feeling more powerful than he ever had in his life to see his Prince in forced submission to him. Casting quick charms to heal the bruises on Draco’s thighs and wrists, he took longer to heal the rectal tears. Blaise cast the charm to unbind the boy and return his voice, and set his wand aside. He drew a finger down Draco’s broken face. “You’re so beautiful like this,” he whispered, “Messy and mine.” He pulled Draco in for a hug. Body shaking and afraid, Draco took the comfort he came for._

_The howl of a train, and the memory went white before expelling him._

Seeing it all happen to “someone else”, as a third party person witnessing it, Draco couldn’t lie to himself anymore. What had happened was not his choice.

He pushed away from his desk. He had to get out. He grabbed his broom and left, hurrying up the stairs and avoiding eye contact with anyone in the common room. He needed out. Now.

The instant he left the eyes of Slytherin behind him, he began running down the corridors. He pushed himself to run hard, muscles hot and cramping, not caring if a professor caught him and took House points. He needed out.

The impact knocked the breath out of him, and he stood stupidly trying to catch it again. Ron Weasley and some blonde Gryffindor girl were glaring at him.

“Oi, watch where you’re bloody going!” Ron growled at him.

Draco was shaking. “I’m sorry,” he said. He kept running.

Lavender scoffed. “What a weirdo!”

Ron watched Draco’s retreat. “Yeah,” he said absently. He knew Harry, and he knew that look on his face. He had been crying. Knowing Draco Malfoy was having a snit fit would normally make him feel smug, but something about the way Draco apologized…the words kept striking him, and he couldn’t figure out why.

Ron and Lavender walked into Gryffindor Tower. He spotted Harry and Hermione talking in a corner. “I’ll be right back, Lav,” Ron said. She pouted, and he kissed her. “It’ll just be a sec,” he promised. She smiled and skipped off to their favourite spot.

Ron walked up to Harry. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Look, I must be barking, but…” He sighed. “You should go find Malfoy.”

Harry was stunned. “Why?”

“Something happened. I don’t know what it was, but I know what my best friend looks like when he’s hurt, and Malfoy was wearing your face like it was the end of the world.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I wouldn’t normally _care_ , but, he ran into me. And he said ‘sorry’. Like…like it was _genuine_.” He looked at Hermione quickly and back to Harry. “Something’s really wrong.”

Harry stood up. He looked Ron in the eye, and with all the warmth he had he said, “Thank you.”

Ron searched his eyes for a moment, then shrugged and gave a little half smile. “Well, it’s too bad he wasn’t lookin’ like that cuz you broke things off, but I guess maybe he’s changing, like you said. Maybe.” Harry hugged him. Ron thumped him on the back, and then held even tighter. “Bring your bloody buttons if you need reinforcements. We’ll be here.”

Harry smiled at him and went upstairs to fetch the Map.

Hermione stood up. “What you did was really amazing, Ron.”

Ron smiled and shrugged it off. “I just want him to be okay.” 

“You mean so much to him. He can’t be ‘okay’ without you,” Hermione said softly.

“I get that,” Ron said. “For me too. It’s Harry, and you.”

Hermione felt her heart flutter. She pushed a stray lock of hair out of her face and noticed his eyes following her movement and lingering over her hair. She wondered if it looked a fright, and resisted the urge to muck with it. His gaze returned to hers, and he smiled. She smiled back, and as they stared at each other she saw little flecks of gold in his bright blue eyes. It was like his freckles were nomadic and restless living in flesh and had to journey elsewhere. His eyes were the most passionate, kind eyes she had ever seen…

“Oh, Won-Won!” Lavender called.

Ron jerked a step back guiltily. He muttered a quick goodnight and walked over to Lavender, wondering for the millionth time that day if maybe Harry was right about love.


	17. Promises

Draco laid on the roof of the Hogwarts clock tower. It wasn’t the highest point of the castle, nor was it the grandest, but its slope was less severe than others and it had a clear view of the Hogwarts grounds. Most importantly, its function was for all outdoor classes--it was not built to be viewed from within the castle. It made it nearly impossible for anyone to be able to find him.

Harry hovered on his Firebolt next to Draco and dropped cautiously onto the slanted tiles. Draco sat with his arms around his knees and shook his head at the boy. “And how did Saint Potter manage the impossible this time?” Draco tried to smile but his face felt too heavy to do more than tug the corners of his mouth.

“The Map, and Ron.” Harry watched Draco sitting in the night, the autumn wind petting his hair. Draco hadn’t even looked at him, just stared ahead over the grounds and the lake.

“One doesn’t resort to a rooftop escape in search of company,” Draco said dryly.

“You want to be alone.”

“That would be the idea.”

“Alright.” Harry laid down on the roof next to Draco, setting his Firebolt securely to his side.

“What are you doing?!”

“We can be alone together.”

“Potter, you’re missing the point!”

“Quiet. I’m trying to be alone.”

Draco felt the smile ease through the strains in his face. “You are so utterly daft…” He glanced over at Harry, who was staring at the sky and completely ignoring him. Draco returned his gaze to the horizon. It was deeply, animalistically comforting to have Harry near without the draining demands of applying attention. He felt soothed, secure.

They stayed together in silence for nearly an hour. 

Draco laid down, years of knowing this roof enabling him to shift position easily without fear of slipping. 

Harry felt like he was luring a wild bird to him and held perfectly still.

Both boys stared at the stars. “It’s a Black family tradition to be named after the celestial,” Draco offered. He pointed, tracing a triangle and a line among the stars. “That’s Draco, see the head of the dragon? It’s one of the largest constellations in the sky. And this one,” he moved his hand to draw a dog with a stubby tail, “is the Alpha Canis Major. This constellation boasts the brightest star we know, with 22 times the luminosity of the sun; that star is Sirius.”

Harry smiled. “I used to make up constellations as a kid. The longer I could stay away from home, the better. I’d lay in the grass at the school field, or in the park, and I’d make up my own stories for the stars…” A wave of anxiety overtook him. “Sorry,” he said. “It’s stupid.”

“No it’s not,” Draco said. “Do you remember any?”

Harry hesitated. He remembered them all, but they had never existed for anyone other than himself. He pointed to the left. “See that dim light, with the bright circle around it?” 

“There?” Draco pointed.

“No,” Harry reached over and put his hand over Draco’s. He positioned it. “There.”

It took a moment before Draco could pick it out. They lowered their hands together, Harry’s still resting over Draco’s.

“That’s Hope,” Harry said. “She’s hard to see sometimes, but she has a ring of strength if you find her.”

Draco thought about Harry as a child, dreaming of hope and hiding from home. He closed his eyes. “I wish things were better for you.”

Harry looked at Draco. “I wish things were better for you, too.” He paused. “Draco…what brought you here?”

Draco opened his eyes and stared up at the sky, searching for answers. The weight and warmth of Harry’s hand over his was reassuring, but he could not meet his gaze. “I told you…about Blaise,” he started, uncertain.

“Yeah,” Harry said. He forced himself to wait.

It was a long moment before Draco continued. “…It was more complicated than I could admit. Or more simple, really.”

Harry’s brow pulled together in confusion, but he didn’t say anything. He waited.

“Harry…he…” Draco blew out a hard breath and closed his eyes. “I can’t say it.”

A warning apprehension of what Draco meant began like a war drum against his ribcage. “Draco, you can tell me anything.” He squeezed Draco’s hand. 

Draco squeezed back. He felt his throat thicken and become stone hard, and tried to swallow it away. “He…” Draco risked a quick look at Harry. It was meant to be a quick glance, at any rate; but when his eyes landed on Harry’s, there was so much concern and such a fierce protectiveness that Draco didn’t want to look away again. “…He raped me.”

Harry’s heart broke at the irreversible enormity of what happened to Draco. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, feeling inadequate. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I couldn’t tell myself,” Draco whispered. 

“What do you want to do?” Harry asked. “I can go with you, if you report this.”

“Report to whom?” Draco said sarcastically. “I can’t exactly take your body into the Ministry of Magic and file a claim.” He counted off on his fingers. “I can’t bring Blaise to the Wizgamot, I can’t report him to Dumbledore for expulsion without Mrs. Zambini demanding explanation and thereby revealing the Switch, I can’t use my position as Prince to have him banished without exposing what happened to my entire House.” He let his hand settle back down over Harry’s. “No…I’ll take something better than justice.” Draco looked steadily at Harry, a flash of anger riveting his eyes. “Vengeance.”

“Can I help?”

Draco’s eyes softened. “You already have,” he said. “I know how to strike back at him. That part’s easy. It’s…admitting what happened. I couldn’t have seen it without Pansy, and I never would have said it without you.”

Harry felt endearment and gratitude for Pansy Parkinson. “Do I get to know your plan?” 

Draco searched his eyes. “I’m afraid you’ll judge me,” he admitted, a slight defensive tilt of his chin.

“I promise you, I’m on your side.”

Draco felt his heart speed up. He thought of the risks Harry took to help him, and decided this was a small one to take in return. “Blaise told me something in confidence when we were dating. I’m going to use it.”

Harry nodded. “He weaponized the trust and intimacy you shared in the past. Your plan seems fair.”

Draco raised his eyebrows in surprise. “You approve?”

“Draco, I’m not out to protect that son of a bitch. He deserves everything that’s coming to him.”

_And how quickly will Gryffindor righteousness overtake that sentiment?_ Draco wondered. 

“Alright,” he said, a test. He looked back up at the sky. “Do you know anything about Blaise’s mother?”

Harry chuckled. “Oh yeah, we’re BFF. We owl on the daily.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “She’s famous, idiot.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. She’s renowned as the most beautiful witch in all of Europe.”

“Okay.”

“She’s been married seven times…and quickly widowed seven times.”

“Yikes.”

“Each husband was enormously rich, willed everything he had to her, and died under suspicious circumstances.”

“But she’s famous for being pretty? Not for being a potential serial killer?”

“Can you focus?”

“Sorry.” 

“Anyway…there’s never been enough evidence to formally charge her. But it looks bad, and it’s all public knowledge.” Draco paused. Quieter, he asked: “Does this sound like the type of woman to want a child?”

Harry’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“A young, beautiful woman who hunts rich older men, marries and kills them. Seven victims in eighteen years. Does that sound like a maternal, nurturing person? Someone who wants to be saddled with an infant as she continues her hunt?”

“No…”

“Exactly. Blaise confided in me that his mother never wanted children. After Blaise, she became so desperate to never have another ‘misfortune’ that she went to those butchers muggles call surgeons and had her womb scooped out.” Draco’s disgust at the procedure was clear. He took a deep breath. “The question remains: why would she have kept Blaise, in pregnancy or after birth, when she was already set on her life plans?”

Harry realized Draco was waiting for him to comment. “…I don’t know,” he said quietly. 

“The family secret Blaise told me is this: his mother was seduced by an incubus.” When Harry remained silent, Draco glanced over and saw him waiting expectantly. “And you have no idea what that means,” he gave a short laugh and rolled his neck to look back at the sky. “Of course.” He thought about the best way to describe the creatures. “You ruined a perfectly good dramatic reveal, you know,” he complained teasingly. 

“You enjoy knowing more than me.”

“It’s easy sport.” 

Harry gave a playful punch to his arm and Draco shot him a quick grin. “Demon Ethnicity 101, Potter,” he began, the smile fading from his face as he turned to look at the sky again. “Incubi and succubi are two halves of the same creature; the incubus is the male form, the succubus is the female form. They have a cyclical existence, rather like a phoenix, changing forms through specific stages in life. Instead of swapping bone and muscle for fire and ash, they alter their sex.”

Harry’s mind swam. He was suddenly very, very grateful that the Switch was forced on him with someone of the same sex. 

“They begin, as all life does, as female. They survive on the sexual energy of humans – magical or muggle doesn’t matter to them--”

“You’re saying demons are less prejudiced than you are?”

“I will drop you from this roof.” 

Harry laughed and moved closer. 

Draco felt the electric power of storms sizzle between them. He reclaimed his breath and carefully continued. “As succubi—the female form—they require semen and seduce men to acquire it. They will either wear out their partner with constant sex to get the best sample, or they will hunt multiple partners until they find the right sample.”

Harry blushed at Draco’s cavalier description of sex, and he was glad they were staring at the stars so he wouldn’t get teased for it. 

“Once they’ve achieved their goal and collected the best seed, they transform into incubi—their male form—and seduce a human female. They pass this seed into her, and the woman is immediately pregnant.” Draco paused. “The important thing to understand with incubi and succubi is that there is no denying them. Their magic is in their manipulation, their seduction. You could see one and have zero interest, but if they turn their gaze to you and decide you’re their next conquest, you will want them. You will die for them…and frequently, male humans do. But female humans remain enslaved for life. Like Blaise’s mother, they can be firmly against the idea of children, but if selected by an incubus to birth their child she will be permanently locked into devotion.”

Harry’s mind reeled.

“Full-blooded succubi are only born when incubi and succubi mate. But children born from seed passed through an incubus to a human mother are halflings; the seed began as human, but its immersion within a demon’s body alters it. Blaise is an unregistered halfling.” He turned to look at Harry. “Do you know what happens when the Ministry discovers a halfling has falsified records?”

“Yeah, actually,” Harry said, turning to look back at Draco. “Hagrid told me when he was outed as a half-giant, they expelled him from Hogwarts and made it illegal for him to own a wand.”

“Precisely.”

“Good,” Harry said, to Draco’s shock. “Blaise is dangerous enough with his father’s inherited abilities. He shouldn’t have a wand.”

“Wait, who said anything about--?!” The words slit his throat as a terrible recognition finally unveiled itself. “Oh, gods,” he murmured, sitting up. Draco had always known that halflings inherit a degree of inhuman ability—it was part and parcel of being a halfing. _There’s only one reason why Blaise’s confession wouldn’t immediately prompt me to ask about his abilities. Altering a person’s will, implanting emotions, manipulating desires and beliefs…that’s what incubi do._ Any fraction of that ability would allow Blaise to steer Draco away from questioning him. “Harry, just thinking that Blaise could have been altering my perceptions is raising a screaming denial. Which in itself is not like me. And there’s this whisper laying bare at the ground, a strand of logic and clarity, collecting pieces of evidence--and the longer it grows, the louder the screaming gets.”

Harry sat up with him. “Do you remember the first time you really noticed him?” Harry asked calmly, his heart pounding.

Draco folded his face into his hands. He hid beside Harry for a few minutes before finally lowering his defenses. “I didn’t think he was attractive,” he said. “I remember thinking his eyes were spaced too far apart, and Pansy used to tease that I was entirely too picky.”

“When did that change?”

Draco’s hands rested on curled up knees. “He just came up to me one night in the commons and said, ‘The Beltane Festival approaches, and I cannot wait to dance with you.’ His boldness was exciting. I asked him why he thought I would go with him.” His vision blurred and he took a shaky breath. “…he said, ‘Because you and I could make the world dissolve’. He left—he didn’t even wait for my answer. He knew I’d go with him…And I knew I’d go with him.” He looked at Harry. “He intrigued me. People can become attracted once there’s a connection, it happens all the time. This wasn’t necessarily manipulation.”

“Push past the screaming,” Harry said gently. “Tell me what the whispers say.”

Draco closed his eyes and shuddered. “I would do things I wasn’t comfortable with without even questioning it,” he admitted. “All summer we were alone, we were constantly going at it. Which sounds great, but I never really saw my friends. It was good, it was fun, it was a distraction—father was in Azkaban until they granted conditional release, then the Dark Lord kept him prisoner and tortured. Mother’s nerves couldn’t handle it and she stayed in the Malfoy villa in Cannes until father was finally allowed home for good. I had an army of House Elves and an empty mansion, and I needed someone to talk to.” He breathed out hard. 

“Take your time,” Harry said. He reached out and rubbed small circles over Draco’s back.

Draco smiled at Harry’s constant effort and patience. “Anytime I brought up going to visit Pansy or Vince or Greg, Blaise would turn it down and I never argued.” 

“Never argued? That doesn’t sound like you.”

“Tell me about it.” Draco flashed a quick grin at Harry and kept going. “Mother wanted me to join her in Cannes, but Blaise insisted I stay.” He shook his head. “Why did I stay?” Harry was getting heated up to reply, but Draco continued, “I wanted to be with her, why did I stay? Gods, Harry…Blaise said if I left, that we should make our relationship non-monogamous. I may be a jealous person when it comes to relationships, but I’ve never panicked the way I did when he said that. Panicked,” he repeated. “Like it would cause me physical harm if he wasn’t with me completely.”

“Do you remember ever saying ‘no’ to him?”

“I never wanted to,” Draco said. He took a deep breath. “There’s a flood of defensive justification I want to add to that. But it is odd.” Draco thought about it longer. “It wasn’t until the Switch that I could say ‘no’ to him in a sexual capacity. The first time I said it, he was absolutely shocked. The second time I said it, we had a huge argument and he broke up with me on the spot.” He tilted his head to one side. “Why would switching bodies alter his effect on me?”

Harry took his hand away from Draco’s back. “Uh, well,” he began awkwardly. “I’ve been able to throw off Imperious since Year Four. That’s an ability tied to my magic, so it’s yours now with the Switch. Maybe it increased your resistance to him?” _Or maybe,_ he thought worriedly, _my body isn’t attracted to men._ His heart ached at the possibility—he cared so much for Draco, and he was afraid that his feelings would change when he returned to his true body. He wished he had been self-aware enough to contemplate the parameters of sex before all this.

“Imperious-resistance would stabilize my will,” Draco mused. “But not enough to negate the emotional manipulation, which is why facing this is still so difficult.” He looked back out at the Black Lake. “If Blaise has been….affecting me….it would make sense that he’d become aggressively obsessed with my refusal. No one would have ever been capable of saying no to him before. And it would explain why he enjoyed breaking me.”

The hair on the back of Harry’s neck stood up. “Enjoyed…?”

Draco kept his eyes on the Lake. He nodded. “Yeah. Pansy gave me the memory of what she saw in Blaise’s mind. He…he treated it like a victory.” Draco felt a chill across him. “I didn’t even leave his bed after.”

“What?”

“I was so convinced that any pain from what happened was my fault. And I still felt like I needed him. Like despite what just happened, he could make me feel okay again.” He looked back at Harry. “But maybe he doesn’t even know if he’s affecting me,” he started quickly. “Maybe it’s all unconscious, or like accidental magic for halflings…” He grit his teeth, forcing himself to stop and think. “The fact that I’m generating excuses instead of considering how best to confront him is more evidence that something’s wrong.”

“I think it’s safe to say that he’s affecting you,” Harry confirmed. 

“I want him away from me,” Draco said, fury in his eyes. “I want him out of Hogwarts, and I want him registered for what he is so he doesn’t do this to someone else.”

“That sounds more like you.”

“Don’t let me back down from it,” Draco said, fear spiking through him. “I know I want this. If he realizes my plan and tries to lure me away from it, don’t let me change my mind.”

“I promise.”

Draco looked back over the lake. “…do you think he ever loved me?”

Harry looked down at the rooftop tiling, studying the grit and cracks. “I don’t know,” he said. “It sounds like he put a lot of effort into keeping you, at least.”

“I loved him,” Draco said. “But with Blaise manipulating my emotions and perceptions from the start, I can’t know how much of that was real. What if none of it was real? How do I reconcile that?”

Harry swallowed hard and thought. “You felt it. It may not have generated from within you, but you felt it, and that makes your experience real.”

Draco sat quietly for a long time. _How do I trust my own judgement? If everything I believed about his feelings for me were lies? If my own feelings were never mine?_

“Thank you for helping me face all this,” Draco said. He stood up, holding his broom. “I think I’m ready to go back inside.” He had a few encryption spells to look up in order to send a properly anonymous tip about Blaise’s heritage. 

Harry picked up his broom and slipped as he stood. Draco caught his arm and the two wobbled briefly, but Draco steadied them. They smiled at each other. “Thanks,” Harry said.

The boys mounted their brooms and flew silently through the night, soaring between turrets before landing at the castle entrance. “Can I walk you to your dorm?” Harry asked.

“You’re such a romantic,” Draco teased. 

“Is that a yes?”

Draco leaned in and kissed Harry softly on the mouth. “Yes.”

*

When Harry returned to Gryffindor Tower, he went straight upstairs to the sixth year’s dorm. He found Ron and Neville casting charms on a sweater and trousers laid on Ron’s bed. The clothes were stained and appeared to be growing hair in patches.

“Lavender’s going to _kill_ me,” Ron wailed.

“What’s all this?” Harry asked as he approached the pair. 

Ron cast again and the trousers stretched to become bell-bottomed. He groaned.

“We’re trying to get Ron’s costume set for tomorrow,” Neville explained. He smiled at Harry. “This is why I was worried about you wanting something fancy back when you needed me to charm your clothes to fit Malfoy’s body. I only know the basics,” he added this last part while distinctly looking at Ron.

“I know, I know,” Ron grumbled. “You warned me like a million times.”

“What are you trying to make it look like?” Harry asked.

“Lavender decided she wants us to go as Alastair and Ophira for Samhain,” Ron said. He rubbed the back of his neck. “I kinda forgot to sign up with Flitwick for help charming a costume, and obviously I couldn’t tell her that. So I asked Hermione.” Harry raised his eyebrows, anticipating exactly how well that conversation must have gone. “She launched into a rant about feminism, something about ‘couples costumes advertising ownership’, blah blah blah. Honestly mate, I stopped listening the second I saw her hairline move. You know when she gets really steamed about something—” he grinned like he was just given a basket of incredibly cute puppies. “—and her whole body tenses up ready to fight you, to the point where her scalp pulls her hair back…” He sighed. “Anyway. She refused to help.”

“My casting isn’t terribly reliable yet, but I could give it a shot,” Harry offered. Since Year Two, he’d gotten very good at charming Dudley’s elephantine hand-me-downs into proper sizes. He didn’t know a whole lot about fashion charms, but he was pretty good at transfiguration, and with the Switch amplifying his abilities he should be able to do it – if he could get Draco’s magic to cooperate.

“Knock yourself out,” Ron said. “It’s a mess anyway, so it’s not like you could make it any worse.”

“Alright. What’s it supposed to look like?”

Both Neville and Ron looked at him incredulously. 

“I know you’ve only been connected to the wizarding world for a few years mate,” Ron started slowly. “But…c’mon. It’s Alastair and Ophira.”

“They’re archetypal,” Neville agreed. “The ultimate romance.”

“Oh really?” Harry said with a smile at Ron. Ron shrugged sheepishly. “Okay, describe him for me.” Harry took out his wand and closed his eyes.

“He has brown leather armor,” Ron started. “With iron embellishments around the collar, fancy looking, you know? But like, tough. Green tunic underneath, and black trousers. Embroidery down the outside seam of each leg.”

Harry did his best to imagine it, and let the image marinate in his mind for a long time before calling on Draco’s magic. He kept his breathing steady and ignored the time it was taking and forced his shoulders to relax. 

He felt the _tap_ in his chest that signaled cooperation and readiness from his magic. He smiled and opened his eyes, and wordlessly cast at the garments on the bed.

It was like watching someone add food colouring to water: the changes dropped into the center of the shirt and rippled outward. Harry was delighted to see it looked exactly as he wanted. He looked at Ron, hoping it was alright.

“It’s _perfect,_ ” Ron said, astonished. “You may have just saved my life. Again.”

Harry grinned. “Make sure it still fits,” he said.

Ron immediately began shucking off his clothes to try it on. Harry, having always been mildly uncomfortable around nudity, turned to face Neville.

“So what have you been up to all night?” Neville asked.

“Nothing really,” Harry said evasively. 

“Did Malfoy back down after your stupid patronus bet? Or has he been a bitch about it?”

“Don’t…”

“Don’t what?”

Ron was lacing his trousers, silently listening to how Harry would field this.

“Draco’s my friend,” Harry said, sour shadows falling when he couldn’t bring himself to be more honest. He wondered what term Draco would have used…

“Since when!?” Neville asked in surprise. “I can’t believe you’re using his first name. That’s…” Neville made a face.

Ron saw the pain radiating off Harry and suddenly felt an enormous surge of guilt. “Of course they’ve hit a first name basis,” Ron defended. “They know more about each other’s bathroom habits than I ever want to know about another person. First name familiarity? THEY’RE THERE. They’ve reached that point.”

Harry and Neville laughed. “Yeah, alright,” Neville conceded. “I still don’t get this whole ‘friends’ thing, but that’s your call Harry.”

Seamus and Dean walked into the dorm. “Oy, Ron. Fetching Alastair, that!” Seamus said with a nod of approval at Ron’s transfigured clothes. Ron beamed.

“We were just talking about how early we need to get up,” Dean said, toeing his shoes off. “Seamus is going as Mikaere, so I’m body-painting fake tattoos across his face and arms.”

Harry sat on Ron’s bed. “Can we chat privately?”

“Yeah, sure thing,” Ron said quietly. He yanked his curtain around the bed, blocking out the continuing conversation from the other Gryffindors, and sat facing Harry.

“Thank you--”

“--I’m sorry.”

Harry and Ron blurted out at the same time. 

“Me first,” Harry said with a grin. “Thank you for the heads up about Draco, and thank you for what you did just now with Neville. It really means a lot.”

“I’m sorry,” Ron said. “I blew up this morning when I said I wanted to talk. You were right…I wasn’t listening.” He picked at a loose thread on the bright red and gold woolen throw Mrs. Weasley knitted him for his last birthday. He continued, “But when I saw Malfoy tonight…He didn’t have his mask. And using your face, I could actually see him.” He shook his head. “Even the way he said ‘sorry’ when bumping into me…it was genuine. And I realized I don’t think I’ve ever experienced Genuine Malfoy before.” He smirked and added, “Snotty, blood-purist, bullying douchebag Malfoy, sure. But not anything really Real, only what he crafted for show.” He grit his jaw and muttered, “His own crafting and his own show…but we’re putting that to one side for a moment.” He looked back up at Harry and studied him. “I’m willing to admit I don’t know him. But I need you to see that all I have are pieces, and you want me to act like I know the whole story. Like…” his fingers worried at a small hole in his mother’s blanket. “Like, I have eggs and flour. And you have a cake. And you’re telling me I should enjoy this, but all I have are raw eggs and dry flour and when I complain you get mad at me!”

Harry smiled gently. “You kept insisting nothing else goes into a cake.”

Ron grinned. “Okay, right, I did,” he said. “But if I can admit I don’t know the git, then can you agree that I don’t know the git?”

Harry laughed. “Yeah, okay,” he said. “But I need that to change.”

Ron took a deep breath. “The thing you told me this morning,” he started hesitantly. “Was that true? Or were you just trying to piss me off and get your point across?”

Harry felt the heat flare in his face and he hoped he wasn’t actually blushing. “It’s true. Draco kissed me.”

Ron closed his eyes and seemed to undergo an impressive struggle. He looked at Harry with determination. “You said he likes chess, right?” Harry nodded, wondering how Ron went from snogging to chess… “I’ll play him.”

Harry was stunned. “You’ll what?” Harry was torn between wanting to whoop with joy that Ron was willing, and terrified that their competitiveness would make Ron’s idea a bad one.

“Tell him I wanna set up a match for wizard’s chess. And to bring the most expensive Firewhiskey his daddy can sneak in for him.”

Harry smirked at Ron’s jibe but let it go. “Are you sure? What if he wins?”

“I promise that when _I win,_ ” Ron said, “That my Victory Dance will remain under two minutes.”

“Ron--”

“And that my trophy will be less than twenty feet tall.”

“ _Ron!_ ”

“Harry I can handle losing a game of chess if it’s an honest loss! What I can’t handle is if Malfoy shits all over my family or the fact I’m poor or if he says anything bad about Hermione!”

“He won’t.”

“You say that now…” 

“Eggs and flour, Ron.”

Ron took a deep breath. “Eggs and flour,” he repeated. “Set up the meet and I promise to learn at least one new ingredient. I might not reach cake-levels right away, but for you I’ll keep learning.”

*

Draco strode into the Slytherin commons, broomstick in hand and mind still back at the Clocktower. He didn’t hear Vince the first time he called his name. When Vince called again, louder and standing from his chair to approach him, the noise jarred Draco out of his thoughts and made him jump in undignified surprise. Draco scowled at his friend.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” Vince said as he stepped close to Draco. He glanced around casually, wary of eavesdroppers. “I got the name for who cast the rose transfigurations.”

“…And?” 

Vince grimaced. “You’re not gonna like it.” Draco’s eyes narrowed. Vince shifted uncomfortably and muttered, “Astoria Greengrass.”

_Astoria?_ “You’re certain?” He asked, regretting the question when he saw Crabbe take immediate offense.

“Would I come to you if I wasn’t!?”

“Apologies,” Draco said sincerely. Vince huffed and rolled his eyes. “What do you know about her?” Draco asked.

Vince raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you the one sort-of-nearly-engaged to her?”

“Not if Pansy has anything to say about it.”

“Speaking of Pansy—”

“Do not breathe a word of this to her,” Draco warned. Vince nodded, his question answered. 

Draco thanked his friend and walked briskly to his room, put away his Nimbus, and sat at his desk. He took a sheaf of soft, gently textured paper and wrote: _Dear Astoria: I appreciate loyalty, skill, and quick-thinking-- all of which you displayed to protect me. Should you be so inclined, I request the grace of your company in the Floo Room to discuss the matter further. Meet me in ten minutes. Yours indebted, Draco Malfoy._

There were charms to fold paper into elaborate shapes, but Draco always preferred creating the creases, points, and measurements by hand. It was nearly meditative for him. Soon the note was folded into a crane, and Draco took out his wand. 

He hadn’t cast this charm since before the Switch, and worried momentarily that he would start a hurricane in his room. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Focusing on a wind charm, and calling on the Switch to modify it to push and pull at the delicate paper wings, he felt Harry’s magic building too quick and thick—

He breathed out a slow, small stream of air. The magic mirrored his breath, and gently lifted the paper bird. Its wings flapped serenely and it sailed towards the girls’ dormitories.

Draco grinned, pleased at this small victory. He felt a part of himself reclaimed.

He walked a little taller as he made his way to the Floo Room.

*

Astoria had been in her cat pajamas when the paper crane breezed under her bedroom door and into her hand. Wildly, she changed into a vintage-style yellow dress with matching heels and pulled her blonde hair out of its balming rags. She charmed the product away and quickly brushed her hair into orderly waves, and realized it had been ten minutes since she got the crane.

She rushed up the stairs from her dorm and hurried across the common room. The girl slowed as she reached the hall leading to the Floo room; she couldn’t walk in out of breath.

Crabbe and Goyle were guarding the door and watched her approach. “Damn,” Crabbe whispered to Goyle. “It’s so unfair that a hot piece like that is trying to marry a rabid pillow-biter.”

Moving just his eyes, Greg gave his friend a reproachful look. 

“Good evening,” Astoria greeted them anxiously.

Greg gave her a small nod. Vince flourished his arm widely and said, “Go right on in.”

She smiled and with doe-like strides approached the door. Astoria was embarrassed to see her hand tremble from excitement and nerves as she reached for the doorknob. She straightened her shoulders and entered.

Draco was staring into the fire when he heard the door open. He pivoted to face her fully; the door clicking shut seemed to punctuate his surprise to see she had chosen weekend attire rather than her Hogwarts uniform. It was a bold statement—she was not here to meet her House Prince, but rather her potential fiancée. 

She curtsied deeply, in the custom of a first meeting. He bowed back, smiling at the cute acknowledgement that they had never spoken to each other before. _So she has a sense of humour,_ he thought to himself. 

“I hope I didn’t keep you waiting,” she said.

“Not at all,” Draco replied. “Thank you for agreeing to meet me on short notice.” She smiled at him and he cleared his throat. “You performed a great service for me,” he began, taking a step towards her. She copied his movement. “It would be proper for me to return the favour. Tell me: what is it you want?”

“My discretion should explain that I didn’t act to trade favours,” she said carefully.

“Perhaps,” he said. “Or perhaps you understood that discretion would increase the value of the favour.”

Her smile reached her eyes for the first time and Draco smirked. “There is something I’d like,” she revealed. She seemed to steady herself to say something difficult. In a gentle voice, she began: “It is very likely in the next few months, that you and I will be betrothed.” Draco’s shoulders tensed and she quickly continued. “I know you favour Pansy. I completely accept that.” His eyes narrowed as he tried to assess her sincerity. “But the fact remains my family would be a better match. The only reason negotiations are stalling for so long is due to your preferences.” 

“My preferences aren’t about to change,” Draco warned her sternly.

She laughed –like a woman’s to start and rising to a childlike giggle at the end. “Of course not!” she agreed. She shook her head, her hair cascading across her shoulders. “My favour is this: I’d like us to learn about each other.” She was grateful for the Switch, as she could more easily read Harry’s untrained face and see Draco’s reactions much clearer. His eyes were fueled with suspicion and curiosity. “If we end up engaged, I want to know my future husband. And if you are promised to Pansy, I would be honoured to still call you my friend.” She took a deep breath and gave a firm nod. “That is my favour. For us to become friends.”

Draco watched her for a long time in silence. He wondered what she knew about the negotiations that he didn’t know. Did she plan this, or was it a tactical strike of opportunity?

Perhaps it would be beneficial to know her better.

“Pansy will be…uncomfortable, with us spending time together,” he began slowly.

“It could be our secret.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Ron's line "THEY'RE THERE. They've reached that point!" is taken from A Very Potter Musical with a pronoun twist.   
> Sorry for the delay between chapter postings, things should be running more timely from now on :)


	18. Samhain

Dawn had barely broke yet every student in Hogwarts was awake.

It was the morning of Samhain. 

Nearly half the school had early appointments with Professor Flitwick and his team of volunteers to assist with charming costumes. The Fat Friar and Nearly Headless Nick were loudly giving advice and opinions on the burgeoning outfits. Professor McGonagall was transfiguring Stanley Fisher’s robes when the Fat Friar had the gall to comment that her work seemed “overly morbid and unrealistic”. The ghosts found themselves immediately banned from the charming stations, restricted to heralding their ideas to students waiting in queue. 

The Gryffindor bedrooms were oddly empty, with the remaining students opting to work together in the common room. Harry was upstairs, alone. He thought about his success in charming Ron’s clothes the night before and decided to try it for his own costume. Draco’s magic remained stubborn, refusing the incongruity that charming for his body and for his self could be the same. Harry couldn’t figure out how to relax control and give firm direction.

Annoyed, Harry gave up and went downstairs to meet with Hermione as planned. 

The common room was filled with noise and felt like a carnival to Harry. Bright colours and puffs of smoke or light were popping everywhere as students worked creatively to achieve their imagined costumes. 

Harry found Ginny standing on a stool as Neville spoke encouragingly to the ivy tendrils delicately wrapping around her body, his wand directing their growth. Ginny was beaming down at Neville, and he dropped to one knee as he wove the vines around her thigh. Harry gulped and turned away quickly.

Walking through the crowd towards the fireplace, Harry saw Hermione assisting a fifth year girl named Cherise McKay. The younger student wore a corset with thick white ribbons laced in the back and a heavily beaded necklace clasped around her neck, dripping jewels. Hermione moved her wand like a composer’s baton, altering the girl’s school-skirt to become shorter, multi-layered, and intricately laced.

“Shorter!” Cherise insisted.

“You won’t be able to sit down if I make it any shorter.”

“That’s how you’ll know it’s perfect.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and obliged, charming the skirt to crawl an inch higher up the girl’s legs. “Now, for this last part, I need you to stop fidgeting and stay still until it’s done, okay?” When the girl complied, Hermione flicked her wand three times and then tapped the girl over the head. Within seconds, a muted blue-grey coloured every inch of her, and her form became semi-transparent.

Cherise looked at her hands, through her hands to the floorboard below, and squealed in delight. “Oh my god, it’s so good! You’re a genius!” 

Hermione’s chest puffed a little in pride of her work. “Not really,” she said, “I just modified a Disillusionment charm in a way that’s never been achieved before.”

“I don’t care how you did it. You did it! And it’s the best ghost costume in all of Hogwarts!” She gave another excited little squeal and hugged Hermione before bouncing away.

“You did a brilliant job,” Harry said.

Hermione smirked. “Harry James Potter, you had better mean the transparency and not the hemline.”

“I’m a fan of both,” he said. Hermione gave him a playful swat on his arm. “Your costume’s really cool too,” Harry said. “I like it. It suits you.” She wore a brown, worn leather jacket lined with white fleece, black slacks, a white scarf and an aviator’s cap with goggles perched on top.

“Thanks,” Hermione said warmly. “I’m Amelia Earhart.”

“Funny--you hate flying!”

“Just because I hate flying, doesn’t mean I don’t admire the people who do it! And Amelia Earhart was a feminist pioneer!”

Harry lifted his hands in mock surrender. “I like it, I said!”

“Sorry,” Hermione murmured. She lowered her eyes and glanced around. “I’ve been getting a lot of flack from the girls. It seems that it’s no longer good enough to dress up as a princess, you have to be ‘a sexy princess’. You can’t dress up as a penguin, you have to be ‘a sexy penguin’. It’s stupid.”

“Sex stuff complicates a lot of things,” Harry said quietly.

“Not for the guys.”

“It does for us too. Just…differently.” Harry paused. “If anyone bitches about you needing to dress ‘sexy’, just cast your modified Disillusionment charm at their robes and see how they like being put on display!”

Hermione laughed. “Thanks,” she said. “Now, for your costume! What did you have in mind?”

Harry smiled, a secret boldly winking in the dimple of his grin. “R2D2. From Star Wars.” He told her about reciting the story to Draco, but kept private the part where Draco compared their bond to the droids. “He was fascinated with the idea of space travel, and he was so into the story. I’d like to surprise him.”

“Oh, I’m sure you will,” Hermione said. She sighed and shook her head, grinning as she said, “You’re really in deep, aren’t you?” Harry didn’t know what to say. He nodded. Hermione held her wand up and said, “Well, we better impress the socks off him then.” She smiled. “Do you have a design in mind, or shall I--” she threw one end of her scarf dramatically over her shoulder: _“Wing it?”_

Harry groaned. “That was terrible.”

“Perhaps I should… _fly by the seat of my pants_.”

“That’s it. You’re getting a joke book for Christmas. Study it like there’s an exam. Please.”

“Ha, ha,” she said dryly, grinning. “Okay c’mon. For real. Do you have an idea what you want this to look like?”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “I’m thinking—raised armored plating across the shoulders and chest, and down the arms. Maybe with some blinking lights. Mechanical plating design down the torso and into the trousers. Pirate style boots, and a wicked cool helmet.”

Hermione wrinkled her nose. “No.”

“What?”

“Harry…I think you’re imagining what this would look like on _your_ body,” Hermione suggested. “You may be smaller built than Draco, but he’s more traditionally feminine looking than you are.” She looked him up and down, and Harry felt a strange mix of self-consciousness and jealousy. “He’s more pointed where most men are broad. His features are delicate, his eyelashes are longer than most women’s…and you’re describing a costume that sounds like a macho Transformers bot.”

Harry laughed. “Okay, what would you do?”

Hermione gave a wicked grin. “Do you trust me?”

“Oh god,” Harry laughed again, “I never thought I’d regret this answer, but Yes, yes I trust you.”

Delighted, Hermione warned, “No mirrors until I’m done!” She began a series of charms and transfigurations. “Now, Draco needs something more feminine to accentuate his best features…and you need something that will catch his attention.” As she was finishing, she held her wand high and reached her hand towards his hair. Harry instinctively pulled back. Hermione paused. “You okay?”

“…yeah,” Harry said. He forced himself to stay still as Hermione reached again and ran her fingers through his hair, chanting a spell. His reactions were a swinging pendulum, straining between Harry’s trauma with touch and Draco’s delight in having his hair stroked. This intimate moment was difficult for him. He felt Draco’s mask naturally slide across his face, concealing his discomfort.

“One last thing,” Hermione said. “Do you know how to rollerblade?”

Harry nodded. “I haven’t in years, but yeah, I know how.” When he was a kid, he used to visit the Youth Center’s free indoor skating arena all the time…Until Uncle Vernon found out and broke a toe on each foot, promising worse if he were ever caught gallivanting there again.

“Good,” Hermione said, and charmed his shoes. 

Harry tested his new skates, giving a quick scuff to check the brake. “This is too cool!” 

“Save it till you see yourself,” Hermione said. “Er, till you see what it all looks like, I mean.” She took his hand and pulled him towards one of the full length mirrors the seventh years kindly replicated for the common room’s morning use. 

Draco’s body had a great sense of balance and Harry found skating to be as easy as it always had been. 

Hermione quickly stepped in front of him, her hands held out to land on his chest, knowing she hadn’t given him proper time to stop. “Now, before you look,” she began, withdrawing her hands, “Don’t look at it as your reflection. Look like you’re looking at Draco.” She stepped away and let Harry approach the mirror.

Harry took a single glide forward and stopped. Stared. He wore a white leather chest harness that was a thick strip across his collar bone and curved over one shoulder, and was detailed with the blue squares that were designed across R2’s lower ‘head’. Beneath, he had a men’s white beater shirt with painted designs of the droid’s buttons and lights. His right forearm bore two blue rings. His trousers were white with faint silver acid wash stains, and he wore a blue leather belt and two blue leather straps around his left thigh. He had silver elbow and knee pads made of dragonhide. His skates were silver with blue laces, and there was a thick streak of blue in his hair at his left temple.

“…I think I saw this in a porno once.”

“Harry!”

“Kidding! But honestly, look at it. Where did your mind go?!”

“If you don’t like it--” Hermione started anxiously.

“No, that’s the problem! He looks….gorgeous. And I can’t stop staring at myself! You’re going to give me such a complex!” 

Hermione laughed. 

Harry reached up to touch the blue in his hair and grinned. “I don’t know who he’s going to kill first, you or me.”

“I’ll deny all involvement.”

“Oh great, thanks.”

“Anytime.”

*  
Students clamoured to enter the Great Hall early, eager to see the costumes created and to display their own. Blood status was made visible through culture specific costumes and drew great curiosity. Power Rangers and Spice Girls were interrogating druids and guardians, and a bloody rendition of Miach and three girls dressed as the Morrigan could be seen questioning Batman and Catwoman.

The ends of each House Table had the usual student chairs replaced by enlarged ornate chairs. These seats were reserved for the visiting dead, charmed so nothing alive could sit in them. One was even placed at the Head Table, replacing Dumbledore’s usual seat of honour with the Headmaster now seated to its right. The Hogwarts ghosts thrilled at seeing ancient respects being made at Hogwarts. 

Harry couldn’t tell if his heart was pounding from excitement or nerves. He skated slowly at Hermione’s side as they walked into the Great Hall, marvelling at the creativity and effort of everyone’s outfits.

“Oh my,” Hermione giggled. “Looks like you’re not the only one who decided to make an impression.”

Draco was dressed as an Egyptian god. He wore a Pharaoh’s collar, and oil that made his skin glow.

“He’s topless,” Harry said incredulously.

“He certainly is.”

“...he’s wearing makeup!”

“Eyeliner suits you, Harry.”

“I’m going to kill him!”

“Remember your hair is blue.”

Harry paused. Hermione was right—Draco was doing the same thing he was. As soon as Harry stopped looking possessively at “his” body, and started seeing how Draco chose to display it...He swallowed hard. To his astonishment, he realized he looked desirable. He had never, in his life, seen himself this way. “...How does he do it?” Harry whispered. “Make me look good like that?”

“He’s showing you how he sees you,” Hermione said back quietly.

“And I’m the idiot making a Star Wars reference,” Harry groaned.

Hermione laughed. “No, it’s sweet! He’ll love it!” She gave a gentle push to the small of his back, sending him rolling forward slightly. “Now go on and show him.”

Harry grinned back at her. “Save me a seat!” And with that he pushed back his nervousness and glided towards the Slytherin table.

Draco was sitting beside Pansy, with Crabbe and Goyle sitting across. It was taking all his willpower not to look for Harry, but he knew Harry would come to him the second he saw his costume. He was proud of how it turned out: the Pharaoh’s collar was created as a set of wings wrapped over his shoulders. He wore a crown designed as a falcon’s face, the beak dipping to his third eye. Soft, elaborately beaded cuffs encircled each wrist, and he wore a shendyt belted at the waist with gold and turquoise jewels. A little fairy milk rubbed into his skin – Harry’s already beautifully tanned skin – produced a golden glow that made him look godlike.

“I’m surprised you’re not rubber-necking the Great Hall looking for Potter,” Vince muttered. “Who knows how he might embarrass you with some….muggle costume….” The last two words warped on his tongue.

“Harry’s been vocal about not participating,” Draco said confidently. “And I trust he’ll find me quick enough.” Greg’s jaw dropped first, then his fork. Vince was getting red in the face, his eyes bulging. “What?” Draco drawled. 

“…I think he changed his mind,” Greg said, staring just over Draco’s shoulder.

Draco turned around. There was Harry, grinning down at him, wearing…something decidedly muggle. Draco stood up quickly. “You—you made my hair blue!”

“And you’re in a skirt.”

“It’s called a shendyt,” Draco corrected snottily. “I made you Horus, an Egyption God…and you put me in kneepads?!”

“I thought they’d be useful,” Harry said quietly, a lewd, teasing smile tugging his mouth.

Draco couldn’t help smiling at Harry’s boldness. “Who are you supposed to be?”

Harry imitated R2D2: “Bee-boop-bop.”

“What in the name of Hades are you--” and suddenly, Draco realized exactly who Harry was dressed as. He laughed, absolute joy and surprise overwhelming him. “—You’re not—are you?”

“Beep-bump.” Harry winked.

Draco’s face hurt from smiling so wide and he didn’t care. “I thought you weren’t coming in costume?”

“I wasn’t,” Harry said, then leaned in closer to whisper, “You said we’re like the droids, that we understand each other in ways others can’t. My costume’s a message: I agree.”

Draco felt sugar in his bones and flight in his heart. “…I forgive the kneepads.”

Harry laughed and skated back to the Gryffindor table.

Draco melted back into his seat, a sappy smile coating his face.

“People are staring,” Pansy whispered.

“Let them.”

“You need to be smarter than this,” she hissed. “They’re collecting information. The Hogwarts Secret can only protect you from anyone revealing the Switch. It has no power if someone wishes to expose your relationship with the Chosen One.” 

“They don’t know--”

“But they will. If you keep giving them clues, they’ll figure it out. And when they have enough evidence that it’s worth presenting to someone, it will find its way back to You-Know-Who.”

As Pansy scolded Draco, Greg was making careful mental notes over who appeared to be gossiping. Vince ignored the whispering students and focused on Draco’s ex, noticing the sharp, staccato way he sliced his food, the tightness in his knuckles. _Jealous fuck,_ Vince thought, and decided to keep a close eye on Blaise.

Harry slid to a neat stop at Hermione’s side. “He--” the Gryffindor began excitedly, but froze when he saw that Ginny sat across from her. “Oh,” he said stupidly. Realizing he couldn’t just walk away now, he smiled awkwardly and asked, “Mind if I sit with you guys?”

“Not at all!” Hermione quickly said, and gave Ginny a pointed look. Ginny looked up at Harry, staring into his eyes, deciding if she wanted to make a scene. She shrugged and said “It’s alright.”

“Thanks,” Harry said. He meant it. He hoped this was a sign that he and Ginny could start to be friends again. He sat next to Hermione.

“Oi, budge over!” Ron demanded of his sister, rudely shoving his way in so he now sat in front of Hermione and Ginny across from Harry.

“Shouldn’t you be sitting with Lav-Lav?” Ginny snarked, annoyed that her brother had sat on some of her leaf tendrils and squashed them.

“I think we just broke up.”

“What!” Hermione yelped.

“Whoa, what happened?” Harry asked.

“What do you mean, ‘you think’?!” Ginny asked.

“Well, she said ‘I hate you and I never want to see you again’, but we all know she’s obsessed with me, so maybe she doesn’t really mean it…”

Hermione raised her eyebrows. Harry stared at his friend, wondering how Ron could see hope in that statement.

“You idiot!” Ginny swatted Ron over the head. “What did you do?!”

“I didn’t do anything! She’s crazy!” Ron insisted. Hermione forced herself to drink her pumpkin juice to keep from saying anything. “She wanted us to go Masking together tonight.”

“Oh…” Ginny said softly. 

“Yeah,” Ron scoffed. “Like that was ever gonna happen!”

“Why not?” Hermione couldn’t help asking. “If she’s your girlfriend and she wants to sign up for some stupid Halloween activity with you, that doesn’t seem unreasonable.”

Both Weasleys gaped at her. 

“Masking is an ancient, sacred ceremony,” Ginny said. 

Ron added, “Wizards and witches who Mask together create a permanent bond. As in, forever.”

Harry wrinkled his nose. “Why would she expect that kind of commitment?”

“Ron’s over-emphasizing things,” Ginny explained. “Yes, it creates a bond, but it’s really just a certain seed of fondness and emotional intimacy. It doesn’t tie you to the person or anything.”

“It may as well, with Lavender!” Ron exclaimed. “I laughed at her, I thought she was having a lark. Then her lip started trembling and I told her there’s no way I’d go Masking with her.”

“You said it like _that?!_ ” Ginny asked.

“Hang on!” Ron defended. “You know how badly I’ve always wanted to Mask a dragon! Charlie used to promise he’d try to sneak me a session when I turned of age.” 

“Little did we know as kids how unlikely that would be,” Ginny teased gently.

“Yeah, well…he still says he’ll try,” Ron defended. Ginny said nothing. “Anyway. I told Lav there’s only one Dragon Mask because it’s so powerful, and since you can’t mix creatures in a Masking session I’d be going solo.”

“You’re the epitome of romance,” Ginny said. 

“Oh, come on! I’ve always wanted to Mask a dragon! I’m not gonna give that up for bloody Lavender!”

“You didn’t tell her THAT, right?” Harry asked.

“Well…I mean…it was more like, ‘I’m not gonna give that up for just anybody’…”

All three of his friends groaned.

“What!” Ron asked. 

“Congratulations Ronald, you’re a free man,” Ginny drawled. “I can confirm without a doubt that yes, you are broken up.”

Ron sighed and added more bacon to his plate. “Just as well,” he said. “She was getting to be a bit much, honestly.”

“I’m so mad that Dumbledore made Masking restricted to sixth and seventh years,” Ginny said.

“I can’t sign up, with the Switch,” Harry said wistfully. 

“Well, I don’t see what the fuss is about,” Hermione said. “I’m not going.”

“What!” Ginny squawked.

“Hermione, you have to!” Ron said with concern in his voice. “You don’t understand—this is such a rare thing. You need to have loads of education to create a Mask, they’re really hard to come by, and ridiculously expensive. It would normally be impossible for our family to do it....except all dragon tamers are put through the ritual so they can understand dragons better. So Charlie’s done it. But do you know what the chances are of any of us having _our pick of Masks_ for a full ritual after this?” He leaned forward. “Zero.”

“Yeah Hermione,” Ginny goaded. “This is such a valuable part of wizarding history, of our culture. It connects you to magic in an entirely new way.”

Hermione looked uncertain. 

“Why don’t you want to do it?” Harry asked.

Hermione stared down at her plate, pushing her food around, thinking. “You know how I’m not keen on flying a broom?”

“This is nothing like--” Ron began, and Ginny stomped on his foot.

Hermione smiled up at him. “For me, it kinda is. It’s a loss of control. With Masking, you become the animal. I dunno…it scares me.”

“You wouldn’t have to be scared,” Ron said. “You could be a gentle-minded Mask, like a puppy. You’ll still be you, just experiencing things differently.” Ron hesitated, and shyly but firmly said, “I would go Masking with you, if it meant you wouldn’t be scared.”

Hermione felt her breath catch. “You don’t have to--”

“I mean it,” Ron said, a little braver. “You’re not just anybody, ‘Mione.”

“…but you want to be a dragon…”

“I want to be puppies with you.”

There was a long pause. “Oh, I don’t know--” Hermione began, but Harry quickly clapped a hand over her mouth and said, “She means, ‘Yes, I’d love to’.”

“Hmpf?!” Hermione squeaked from beneath his hand, looking up at Harry with panic in her eyes but making no move to dislodge his hand.

Ron smiled. “Wicked.” Ginny slapped her hand over his mouth and said, “He means, ‘I’m glad we get to share this’.” 

“When should we meet?” Harry asked as Hermione.

“An hour after dinner,” Ginny said, as Ron, “Outside the Fat Lady. We can walk down together.” 

“It’s a date.”

Ginny smiled a little sadly at him. “It’s a date,” She confirmed.

Slowly, both Harry and Ginny removed their hands. Ron’s ears were red, and Hermione’s eyes were still wide. They stared at each other, waiting for the inevitable denial to bubble up. But to their surprise…it never came. Slowly, they smiled.

“I…uh….better go add your name by mine on the appointment sheet,” Ron said hoarsely.

“Okay,” Hermione said. 

Ron looked at her with such wonder on his face, like she had given him something precious. He stood up and left the table, reminding himself not to run and holler in his excitement. He was a little worried about what Lavender would say when she saw Ron scheduled a Masking session with Hermione, but he figured she would probably understand. 

Hermione watched Ron get up and leave and counted to twenty in her head, waiting for him to be out of hearing range. She smacked Harry in the arm. “How could you do that?!”

“Ow.”

“He-could-have-freaked!” She reprimanded, smacking him between each word for emphasis.

“Nah,” Ginny said casually, “He’s been desperate for you since first year.”

Hermione stopped and looked at Ginny. “He…what?”

“It’s true,” Harry said.

“Neither of you thought to tell me?!”

“We couldn’t tell Ron how you felt, and we couldn’t tell you how he felt!” Harry said. 

Hermione gulped. “…I…have to go to the library.” She stood up quickly. “I don’t know nearly enough about Masking to think I can do this.”

“You CAN do this,” Ginny said, irritated that Hermione was once again hiding behind her books. 

“Hit the library, go into this confident and have a great time,” Harry said.

Hermione smiled sweetly. “If this goes badly, I’ll crucio you both.” She left, leaving Harry and Ginny alone together.

“They finally made it,” Ginny said.

“Took them long enough,” Harry smiled.

“…I wish we made it, too.”

Harry winced. “I’m sorry, Gin.”

Ginny pursed her lips. “What if I talked to Ron?”

“Ginny--”

“Just hear me out! I could tell him how we feel--”

“You can’t--”

“—and make him understand he has to learn to compartmentalize his friendship with you and his relationship with me--”

“It’s not that simple--”

“—and we could even attend therapy sessions with the three of us to make sure all relationships are thriving as they should--”

“Ginny, stop! I’ve met someone.”

Ginny felt her breath sucker-punched from her body. “Who?” 

“…I can’t tell you that.”

“Harry Potter,” Ginny began, dragging her strength reserves to the forefront. “Who the hell is she?!”

Harry felt fear like a thousand pins opening his veins. He owed it to her to explain at least partially, but he was so afraid of how she’d react. He leaned forward and quietly said, “It’s a bloke.”

Ginny’s eyebrows shot into her forehead. “A bloke?!”

“Yeah.”

“But you like girls. Don’t you?”

“I do. But…I might like blokes too. I’m still figuring it out.”

Ginny laughed. “But Harry!” she said with a shake of her head. “Why would you pursue a ‘maybe’ when you got a ‘definitely’ right in front of you?”

“He’s not a maybe, trust me. Guys in general are a maybe, but he’s not.”

“Who is he?”

“I really can’t say.”

“I don’t understand how you could have met someone,” Ginny said, drumming her long fingers against the table. “I mean, we’re your friends and we barely even see you anymore. You’ve been spending all your time with Malfoy.” 

Harry stared at her, and she stared back uncomprehending. “Yes, I have been,” Harry said cautiously.

It took another minute for Ginny to realize what he was implying. She leaned back in her chair. “Merlin’s beard, _no_.”

“Ginny, please, keep it down,” Harry said.

“That’s why you’ve been defending him so fiercely.” She found it hard to look at Harry. “I’m such an idiot.”

“No you’re not,” Harry insisted. 

Ginny gave a humourless laugh. “Luna’s going to be thrilled.”

“What are you talking about?”

The memory made Ginny feel foolish and angry. “The three of us got to talking about it last year,” she began, feeling like she wasn’t really here. “Me, Neville, and Luna. Neville said he’s thought you and Malfoy have been using your rivalry to safely cruise each other since Year One.”

Harry shot a look down the benches at Neville, shocked.

“But he thought you were both mostly-straight and would never admit the attraction in your lives. And then there was Luna,” Ginny rolled her eyes, “Who was completely surprised we were having this conversation at all.” She glared at Harry accusingly. “‘Isn’t it obvious?’ she’d asked us. ‘They love the way of anyone damaged: painfully.’” Ginny wondered if Luna had been right this whole damn time. “Neville and I argued that this wasn’t about love, and she looked at us like we didn’t understand the world. She predicted that one or both of you would admit your feelings before you graduated.” 

Harry wondered again how long Draco had known about his feelings. “You can’t tell them,” Harry said quietly. “You can’t tell anybody.”

Ginny stared at him. “They’re your friends.”

“I know, and I want to get there, I just need time.” Harry didn’t know how to explain the shame he felt, which coiled through compacted memory of his uncle and aunt calling him freak and Dudley calling him gay. _“Who’s Cedric, your boyfriend?! You’ve been calling his name in your sleep, faggot!”,_ Dudley taunted when Harry woke from nightmares after Cedric’s murder. Harry didn’t know how to explain the embarrassment and frustration at not really understanding his own sexuality when Draco’s body was affecting him. And he knew Draco had kept his own sexuality a secret from three quarters of the Hogwarts student body—Harry didn’t want to leak it to too many people. “I’m still figuring it out,” Harry said to her. “Let me do that before I’m expected to explain it to others, okay?”

“Speaking of explaining it to others,” Ginny began, a dangerous glint in her eye. “Ron.”

“It’s why he and I have been fighting so much,” Harry explained quickly. “But he’s coming around.”

“Weren’t you worried it could cost you your friendship?” She baited.

“No,” Harry said firmly. “Anyone who is truly my friend should be able to accept my choices in who I date,” he said pointedly. “Dating you would be different—you’re Ron’s family. Ron would have to be there for you no matter what. I would lose him. Maybe not completely, but it would never be the same.”

Ginny looked towards the Slytherin table, and saw Draco put his hand over Pansy’s. “It’s not classy to go after someone else’s boyfriend, Harry.”

“They’re not actually dating,” Harry whispered. “They never were.”

Ginny looked back at Harry. “They’ve put on a real convincing show for the last few years. That’s a hellova commitment for people who don’t love each other.”

“She cares about him the way you care about Hermione.”

“I wouldn’t do that for Hermione,” Ginny scoffed. “Not date anyone for years? That’s a terrible thing to ask someone to do for you.”

“I don’t know the details of their agreement, but they’re allowed to date other people.”

“Not in public. In public, everyone thinks they’re together. And that might be great for Malfoy staying in the closet, and that might be great for you to stay out of the public eye, but this really sucks for Pansy.”

Harry was silent. He fumbled for words, unsure how to say it to make it make sense. “She wants to help,” he said lamely.

“I’m sure she does,” Ginny drawled. “You remember how helpful she is when she sleeps with him.” Harry looked pained, and Ginny laughed. “Oh, so she’s already sleeping with him?”

“Once,” Harry admitted. “Just once.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Ginny said, saccharine. “And congratulations.” She stood up, turned her back, and left the table.

Harry felt her words like a shiv between his ribs. Having lost the rest of his appetite, he decided to go to the Dynamics room early. He had barely left the Great Hall when a strong hand took his shoulder and slid him back against the wall. 

Blaise’s cold eyes were dark and impenetrable, like an insect’s. “Were you flirting with him this morning?”

Harry felt heated words rise in his throat, words like “Fuck off” and “None of your damn business”. But a faint buzzing pressed against his skin and his words melted. Harry’s muscles relaxed, and a sense of trust kept his new words warm as he felt compelled to be honest. “Yeah,” he said. 

“Why?”

Harry studied his face. Blaise was exquisite, how had he never noticed before? “Because…” Harry struggled; he shouldn’t discuss this. But the reasons were fuzzy and far, and Blaise needed him. “…we’re seeing each other.”

The heavy hand on his shoulder tightened, and although Harry winced he did not want to move away. “I am going to tell you something, and I need you to believe me. You do believe me, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Harry said quickly. 

“Good,” Blaise smiled. “Draco can never love you.”

Harry reeled. “…That’s…not true,” he choked, a spark of defiance catching fire in his eyes. 

Blaise quickly moved his hand from Harry’s shoulder to grip his bicep, skin-on-skin contact giving him stronger yield. “You are nothing but a stunt to be conquered,” Blaise said softly. “You may have held a certain fascination when you were unreachable. But when the snitch is caught, the game is over.”

Harry stared into Blaise’s face, and his certainty made him want to vomit. “He…”

“…is in love with _me,_ ” Blaise said. “Not you.”

Harry gave a small shake of his head but could find no argument. 

“You’re going to stay away from him,” Blaise explained. “And you’re going to be happy for it.”

Harry felt a swarm of insects in his mind, clicking, humming, and sending a creepy-tickling sensation. He trembled.

Blaise watched, curious that he wasn’t agreeing. With the Switch, Draco achieved the freedom to disobey by using Harry’s well-known ability to throw off Imperius. But this body, Draco’s body, was accustomed to Blaise’s direction. The body/mind mismatch must be providing just enough dislocation that Harry could still reach his own will, however slightly. “I said, you’re going to stay away from him,” Blaise repeated.

“How about you stay away from both of them?” Vince said, wand aimed at Blaise.

Blaise looked at him and grinned. “Really, Crabbe? You’re about to curse me, to protect Potter?”

“I don’t like it either, but it looks that way,” Vince said.

Blaise considered Charming Crabbe into leaving them alone--but with that came risk of Crabbe discovering what he was. He looked back at Harry, who to his delight looked broken-hearted. “Alright,” Blaise said lightly. His job here was done.

Vince kept his wand aimed at Blaise until he had walked away. “I knew the little blighter was up to something,” he muttered. He lowered his wand and looked at Harry, asking in obligation, “You okay?”

“…I don’t know,” Harry whispered. 

“Great,” Crabbe complained. “Now I have to deal with you. Alright. What’s wrong.”

“Everything. Nothing. I don’t know!” 

“Can you walk?” 

“Yeah.”

“Then take yourself to Madam Pomfrey’s if you figure it out or go to class if you don’t.” Crabbe left, feeling pleased with himself.

Harry skated to class, trepidation wrapping against his limbs.

He was late when he arrived. Remus nodded to him, “Nice of you to join us.”

Harry felt his hands begin to shake at the sight of Draco, scowling playfully at him. Harry slid towards their seats and Draco muttered, “Twelve minutes, and untold seconds.”

Harry couldn’t take it any longer. He kissed Draco passionately, need and fear colliding in his mind, desperate for answers but the questions were twisted beyond recognition.

“Mozel tov,” Remus said, grinning.

As the kiss broke, Draco smiled, wondering what could have gotten into Harry to come out this way... 

“Please don’t love him,” Harry begged. 

“What?” Draco studied Harry’s eyes, saw the nearly feverish shine in them, and was getting worried.

“Please…please don’t love him,” Harry repeated. “I don’t know what this means to you,” he motioned between them. “But it means _everything_ to me. Please--”

“Perhaps this is better discussed after class?” Remus interjected. 

Draco ignored his professor. “Did Blaise talk to you?” He asked. Harry nodded, miserable. “What did he say?” 

Harry let his hands fall from Draco’s face and took his hand, squeezing it hard. Harry couldn’t quite pin what Blaise said to him; he only knew the rooted revelations that Draco didn’t care about him, and was destined to be with Blaise. Except, that wasn’t entirely right, was it? He shook his head, confused. 

Draco looked up at Remus. “Blaise is an unregistered halfling. His father was an Incubus.”

Remus immediately knelt to look closer into Harry’s eyes, saw how dilated his pupils were, the sheen around his lids. He took out his wand and cast, “Legilimens.” 

Draco rubbed his thumb over Harry’s hand, his thoughts racing to every worst-case scenario. 

Remus lowered his wand. “The Switch saved him,” he said. “Only someone who can repel Imperious would be capable of throwing off a halfling’s manipulation; the Switch kept just enough of his will and true memory inoculated that we can restore him. But it will hurt.” His wand pointed to the ground, he chanted a soft string of vowels in a language Draco didn’t recognize. A white-blue pointed implement appeared, looking smokey and noncorporeal. “Hold his head. Keep him as still as you can.” Draco reached up and took Harry’s face. Remus concentrated hard in order to hold the tool, his fingers moving slightly into it at times. He placed the point to the back of Harry’s skull where it hinged to his neck and thrust upwards into his brain. 

Harry screamed. The smoke-blade was harmless to matter, but could sever false will. Harry felt the cut within his thoughts, felt the amputation of emotion. The pain was too much, and he passed out.

He woke to the smell of eucalyptus, Draco’s fingers rubbing soothing circles of the oil into his temples. His body felt stiff all over, and he realized he had been laid on the floor of the classroom with Draco kneeling beside him. “You’re really not good with pain, are you?” Harry mumbled, looking up at him with a smile. 

Draco gave a shakey laugh, pausing in his ministrations.

“Keep going,” Remus advised. “First thirty seconds after waking should do it.”

Draco resumed. Harry closed his eyes again, the pain ebbing rhythmically back from his mind with every circle Draco closed at his temples. It wasn’t until the pain was gone that Harry felt embarrassment disembowel him with the memory of what just happened. He groaned and reached up to drag the hood of his robes over his face. 

“Oh, no you don’t,” Draco chided, pulling the hood back. He leaned down to whisper in Harry’s ear, “It means everything to me, too.” He lingered, needing the words to sink out of reach before he could dare to see their meaning in Harry’s eyes. Draco raised himself a few inches and let himself drown in the ocean-look Harry gave him: primordial, powerful, consuming him in its depth and challenging him to breathe underwater. Draco’s mouth curved, a crescent moon, and Harry’s eyes were pulled to it.

“ _Ahem,_ ” Remus reminded them. Draco rolled his eyes dramatically and stood. Harry slowly sat up, feeling shy and awkward. Draco reached his hand out to Harry, worried about the strange rolling boots he wore, and helped him rise. “I hope you know, I’ll have to report Blaise to the Ministry,” Remus said, with an apology as soft as moss across the stone of his decision.

Draco felt elation lurch into regret and tumble back to victory, his desire to see Blaise punished battling hard against his reverence for a lost love. He swallowed hard, reminding himself that Blaise engineered those feelings of devotion. “I was planning to send an anonymous owl,” he confessed, “But I couldn’t get the spell. I…am still under his thrall, in some ways.” He cast a quick look to Harry. “My magic—your magic—it knows my division of will, and it wouldn’t let me perform the spell I needed to conceal my identity.”

“It’s okay,” Harry reassured him. 

“Did he come to you while you were Switched?” Remus asked, reaching into his jacket for his wand.

“Before,” Draco corrected quickly. He wasn’t going to let Remus anywhere near the memory of when Blaise came After.

“Ahh,” Remus said. “I can’t help with that. You would need a Tamer—professionals trained to combat non-human magic.” A hitch of self-loathing convulsed at the word. _A Tamer._ Remus hated the disdainful superiority it boasted. He concentrated on releasing anger and reclaiming grace.

“If his magic reasserts its strength when we Switch back, then yes,” Draco conceded. “But for now, I’m fine. And you’d be doing me a favour by reporting him.” At this, Harry reached out and took Draco’s hand. Draco was grateful for the support, knowing it took a lot of bravery from Harry to offer such intimacy in front of Remus.

“As for this,” Remus said, indicating their joined hands. Harry squared his shoulders and met his professor’s gaze directly, not realizing he held his breath. “It’s about time you told me!”

“--What?!” Harry exhaled sharply.

Remus laughed. “I knew, and I’m happy for you. Now, I’m pretty sure they’re paying me to teach, so if you’ll both take your seats…”

*

Blaise skipped his first class and returned to Slytherin House. It was easy to break into Draco’s room; Greg had cast a locking charm for his friend, but a simple Alohomora was enough to gain entrance. Blaise crept inside, alert for any House Elves still performing their morning cleaning. Once satisfied he was alone, he held his wand high: _Time to get to work._

*

Pansy walked right past her usual seat as students began settling in for History of Magic. She found Charlene sitting with her friend Penelope and approached them. “Thanks for keeping my seat warm, Penelope. You may go now.” 

Both girls gaped at Pansy. “But I always--”

“I said you may go now.”

Penelope glanced at her friend, who gave a helpless little shrug. Penelope picked up her parchment and ink set and left to find another seat. Pansy smiled and sat down, not bothering to unpack her supplies. She waited until Professor Binns had droned on enough that half the class was in a stupor. “I’ve come to collect the favour you owe me,” she whispered.

Charlene groaned. “But that was a year ago!”

Pansy gave a mock surprised face. “Oh, I didn’t realize the passage of time depreciated the value of what I did for you. I suppose we can just call Penelope back over and tell her you slept with her boyfriend?”

“Don’t!” Charlene hissed. “…What do you want?”

Pansy smiled. “I noticed you flirting with Vince.”

“Crabbe? Yeah, he’s pretty funny,” Charlene admitted. “But it wasn’t like, _real_ flirting, it was just fun.”

“I don’t care what your intentions with him are,” Pansy snapped. “You are going to flirt with him more. You are going to do whatever it takes to convince him to sign up for Trelawny’s Divination session tonight. Pretend you’ll go out with him if he does it. I don’t care. But make sure he goes.”

“That’s it?” 

“That’s it. But he has to actually _go_ , not just say he will, not just sign up and blow it off.”

“And if I do this, we’re even?”

“Yes.”

Charlene giggled. “I may actually enjoy myself!”

“Don’t take this lightly. If you fail, I’m telling Penelope everything.”

“Relax, I got this.”

“Good. I’ll expect you to notify me when he’s signed up. Have it done by dinner.”

Charlene smirked. “It’ll be done by lunch.”

*

Ginny and Luna were in the Herbology greenhouse tending to a Letzten Worte tree. These trees only grow in soil where a wizard was killed. They require blood for nourishment and their fruit resembles the face of the person who died. If raised to maturity, the fruits will repeat the last words of the victim, hence the name _Letzten Worte_ , or Last Words.

Three of the fruit “heads” began crying, pollen dusting down their faces in sandy tears. 

“You’re being too rough,” Luna said in her direct fashion.

“If we have to donate blood to this thing then it can handle a little roughness!” Ginny bit back as she continued to strip its bark. Another head wept silently.

Luna put her hand over Ginny’s arm and lowered it. The Ravenclaw took a small silver blade and made a practiced cut across her wrist, overlapping an old scar. She rubbed her blood over the stripped wood, and the fruit heads all sighed in relief. “We only take the first layer of bark, we don’t strip it entirely.” She gazed at Ginny. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she replied. She bit her lip.

Luna smiled, still rubbing her blood into the tree. Its leaves trembled in relief. “It must be big for you to lie about it,” she said, her voice lilting. 

“It’s nothing!”

“I see,” Luna turned her attention back to the tree. “And how’s Harry?”

Ginny snarled, “Why are you asking about Harry?!”

“Because when someone wants to know the weather, they go outside.”

Ginny fumed. “He’s an idiot,” She said softly. Noticing Luna reach for the silver knife, Ginny took it instead. “My turn.” She cast a cleansing charm on it and cut her palm, a little deeper than usual, the guilt of hurting the tree pressing her. Bringing her blood to the trunk and letting it drip into the soil, she said, “He’s seeing someone else.”

“Who?”

Ginny squeezed her wound harder, the blood falling faster, the sting bringing her welcome distraction. “He wants to keep it a secret.”

“I’m sure that’s easier for him and Malfoy right now.”

Ginny growled. “How did _you know_ this would happen?!”

“How did you _not_ know?”

“Be serious.”

“I am.”

“Malfoy is as close to evil as you can get without becoming the Dark Lord, and Harry is too pure and too good to get involved with someone like that!”

“When the facts don’t match your beliefs it’s time to reimagine the world.”

“This, coming from the girl who believes in Crumple Horned Snorkacks!”

“They’re a fact. And so is Malfoy and Harry.”

Ginny slammed the knife on the counter. “You don’t get it,” she hissed, tears burning in her eyes. “I love him! And he…” She suddenly stopped speaking, horrified at the realization she was about to start bawling her eyes out any second now. She tried to calm herself down, but it was too late – she could feel her lungs begin to shudder.

Luna grabbed the knife from the table and slit lengthwise up her arm. “Professor,” she called, holding up the deep gash. “I forgot your warning about larger cuts, I’ve lost a lot of blood. Can Ginny walk me to Madam Pomfrey’s for a blood replenishing potion?” 

Professor Sprout was wrestling a Venomous Tentacula and bellowed a quick confirmation. Luna took Ginny by the elbow and led her outside.

Ginny sniffled, her eyes downcast. “You shouldn’t have h-hurt yourself,” the words tripped in her mouth as she cried.

“I’d never let you break down in front of the whole class,” Luna said. “We had to escape.”

“Thanks, Luna.”

“What are friends for?”

*

Classes had ended. Draco found himself becoming nervous _–actually nervous!—_ about his plan for the night. He walked quickly to his room, wanting to review and obsess over the details in private. Greg escorted him so he could unlock the door. 

Draco gave a quiet “Thanks” to his friend before entering.

The light was violently red. 

_“Dearest Draco…”_ –crooned Blaise’s voice, emanating from a piece of parchment floating at the centre of the room. 

Draco stepped back again and slammed the door shut. “Greg,” he growled, letting his forehead lean on the door. Greg lumbered back to him, looking confused. “Blaise broke into my room. He’s fucked around with the lights at least, who knows what else is in there. Help me disarm it.”

Greg gave a single nod and pulled out his wand. Draco braced himself and opened the door.

_“Dearest Draco,”_ began the letter again.

Blaise had charmed the fire sconces to emit a deep, bloody light. He nailed single roses to cross each other, lining the entirety of his room with thorned X’s.

_“We need to have an honest discussion about our relationship.”_

Draco moved quickly to the letter and snatched it out of the air. He crumpled it into a tight ball – only, in the moment of doing so, the paper transfigured itself into razor blades. Draco yelled as the blades ground themselves deep into his palms. He pulled his hands apart, the metal gleaming in his flesh. Greg was at his side in an instant and gently pulled the blades out, each making a sickening suckling sound as they were pulled free from the hot blood and flesh.

Once they were all removed, the blades reformed into the letter. 

_“Any move to destroy this letter will have painful consequences, so stop being stubborn and hear me out.”_

“He’s gone mad,” Greg said, casting a healing charm over Draco’s hands. Draco stared at his hands, still in shock from pain and how much Blaise had changed.

_“I know you’re angry—”_

“Damn right we are,” Greg aimed his wand at the letter. “Silencio!” The charm rebounded, wrapping an invisible hand around Greg’s throat, choking him. He wheezed and coughed, trying to cast finite at his neck. Draco could see dark purple bruising forming a collar on his friend and was stricken with panic. 

_“Now now, what did I say about listening first?”_

The hand released Greg just as his vision was blackening. He fell to his knees, every breath a painful stretching of his abused windpipe.

Draco leaned down beside him. “Are you okay?” 

Greg coughed, struggled to regulate his breathing. “Yah,” he croaked.

_“If you’d stop throwing your little tantrums, you’d realize I’m doing you a favour.”_ Draco glared up at the letter and helped Greg to his feet. 

_“I love you. I chose to write to you so you can be confident in judging my words without wondering if you’re being Charmed. I’d do anything for you to believe in me.”_

Draco ached—there was a glimpse of the summer-boy he had loved. _Where was that boy now?_ With steady wand movements, Greg began clearing the nailed roses from the walls.

_“It’s the reason I told you what I really am.”_

Greg’s curiosity piqued. 

_“I could’ve easily kept it from you. But I risked confiding in you because you’re the person I want to share my life with. That’s how much you mean to me: I risked my wand to be true to you.”_ Draco felt inexplicably guilty. _“Pushing you that night was part of being true to you. I was desperate to prove that your new body doesn’t have to separate us. I was wrong to break things off—I should have just brought you to bed.”_

Draco folded his arms protectively around himself. Greg was halfway done the room, smoothing over the nail punctures in the walls as he removed the flowers.

_“I learned from my mistake. I took you the way you needed to be taken. And now you know that I will still love you no matter what body you’re in.”_

Draco closed his eyes, wanting to throw the letter into the fire and barely restraining himself from doing so. Roses piled high onto the floor as Greg yanked them away from the walls.

_“It may not have been consensual, but it wasn’t rape.”_

Shocked, Greg looked at his friend. Draco could feel his gaze and forced himself to look up and meet his eyes. The look they shared told Greg more truth than the letter.

_“Draco…I love you. You know what I am: that means sometimes my Charm will naturally activate when I want something bad enough. It also means intentionally using it is in my blood. Don’t fault me for what I am. Don’t fault me when you’ve known all along.”_

The last rose weeded, Greg vanished the pile. He moved to the fire sconces to cast a spell that would tell him if powders or wandwork had altered the light of the flames, which in turn would expose how to counter the effect.

_“I love you. You love me. We owe it to ourselves to try to make this work.”_

The lights returned to normal, and the letter floated to the floor in completion. 

“Any other surprises I should know about?” Draco asked, his voice rough.

Greg fired several spells through the room to investigate. The bed lit up in warm pinks. Greg cast again, banishing the enchantment. “He had it so you’d dream about him, every night. Lust dreams.”

“Thank you,” Draco murmured. He felt queasy.

"That's it as far as magic goes,” Greg said. “I think you shouldn’t be alone for a while.”

“I have it under control.”

“Draco, he broke into your room, he put dangerous hexes on that note, and he’s admitted to assaulting you.”

“He’ll be gone soon.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means he’s going to be reported to the Ministry for what he is. They’ll pull him out of school and break his wand.”

“And what is he?”

Draco felt a bolt of protectiveness surge through him, intent on keeping loyalty to Blaise. He refused to bow to it. “He’s an unregistered halfling. Half Incubus.”

“That’s it,” Greg said, his usually quiet voice growing loud. “You’re not to be alone until he’s gone.”

“Greg--”

“Vince and I will be your bodyguards. I’ll get a house elf to move my bed in here.”

“If he really wants to do something, he can just use his Charm against you. It’s worse than Imperio, it feels so natural, and it lingers forever…”

“That’s why the Ministry is going to take him away. But in the meantime, we’re not letting you out of our sight. Sure, he could try to Charm us, but it will make his job much harder if he has to get through witnesses to get to you, especially if he’s trying to maintain his secret.”

Draco weighed the offer and risk. “Alright…thank you. It’ll only be for a few days.”

Greg smiled at him. “It’ll be like when we were kids, sleeping in the same room.”

Nostalgia yawned between them, and reminiscence stretched back to a comfortable time when safety was taken for granted.

“I like that idea,” Draco said.

*

Vince wished he hadn’t wolfed down his dinner so quickly, but thanks to Charlene he was signed up for a Divination session with Trelawney and had to make it to her classroom in time. He rushed up the staircase and dodged as Peeves threw rotten eggs. The poltergeist cackled when another staircase began to change directions, trapping four students as targets while it spun around.

Vince thought back to Charlene’s words: _If you see me in a vision, who would I be to fight fate?_ He was imagining all the things he’d tell her he “saw”, wondering exactly how far he could push this, when he finally arrived at the trap door leading to Professor Trelawney’s classroom.

When he climbed up, thick incense left streaks of velvety bile lining his nostrils. He hated this cheap perfumed crap, it made his stomach twist. 

“Come in, Mr. Crabbe,” came an unusually clear-sounding Trelawney. Crabbe was instantly suspicious. He sidled into the room and sat on the edge of the offered chair. The incense was thick but could not completely hide the smell of whiskey on her breath. “Tell me, Vincent…Why did you not seek to join my regular classes?”

She took out a deck of tarot cards and began shuffling them as she waited for his answer. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “I dunno,” he said, not wanting to say _Because it’s unnatural to step outside of time and it freaks me out._

She cut the deck. “Yes you do. You know many answers, and you dread them surfacing to your conscious mind. That’s why you’ve avoided Divination.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he lied. He could remember being four and five years old, dreaming exactly what would happen the next day and losing the ability to distinguish when he was asleep or awake. His father finally had him committed to St. Mungo’s for three months for professionals to confine his dreams to fantasy. Divination reached something far from this world, and Vince would rather stay right here thank-you-very-much. 

With slow hands, she plucked the first card and laid it face up on the table. “We’ll start easy.” She stared into his eyes. “What do you see for me?” 

“I don’t do Divination,” Vince said. “Just tell me something about my future so I can go.”

“The card has been pulled. It needs to be read before it can be returned.”

He looked down. “It’s an upside down chariot.”

“And?”

“And that’s it,” he huffed. He couldn’t explain why, but he felt compelled to look at the card again. The longer he looked at it, the more familiar it felt…until something unlocked. “Looks like things went tits up for you long ago and you’ve given up control,” he said, surprised at the sudden clarity.

“Keep going.”

Unnerved, he looked up at his professor and slouched back in his seat. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“Don’t look at me. Look at it.”

_No,_ he thought. He wondered how much trouble he’d get in if he just walked out right now. He peeked at the card, willing it to be paper and paint. He fought down Divination before, surely he could do it again. But of course, magical items can be just as stubborn as magical people – ask any wand. The card enveloped his struggling mind with insight and truth, and as it filled the grooves along his brain he could no more reject it than abolish his own thoughts. In a long stream, he muttered: “A woman trapped within the expectation of what her journey was meant to be. Resigned to remaining stuck. Resenting the clear road ahead when the chariot is upside down caging her. It keeps her safe, and it keeps her stuck, and she hates it and needs it.”

“We call it, ‘reversed’, not ‘upside down’,” Professor Trelawney said.

“Whatever,” Vince said. He pushed the cards towards his professor. He would not read them again. “Your turn to read mine now. I told this girl I like that you’d read my future with her.” 

She swept the cards into a small pouch and tucked them away. “How about you tell me if Charlene is in your future?” She lifted a crystal ball onto the table.

“Did she talk to you about me?” Vince asked, surprised his professor knew her name.

“Gaze into the crystal ball. Breathe deeply.”

Vince scowled. “I didn’t come here to—”

“Unless you want me to tell Charlene you’ve never stepped foot in my classroom, you’ll do as I say.”

Vince locked his jaw. He really, really wanted Charlene to go out with him, and she made it clear that he needed to be in Trelawney’s good graces. The boy put his hands on the table to brace himself and looked into the crystal ball. It had a tiny imperfection in the upper right quadrant, and he wondered how it got there. “I don’t know how to do this,” he complained.

“Just breathe deep, and focus on your future. Let your gaze relax.”

He stared and let his mind wander to what kind of lie he could tell the professor before any real images began to stir. Bits of candlelight flickered against the glass, that imperfection smirking at him, and before he could fabricate any visions, true shapes emerged.

“It’s just over a year from now,” he intoned, his voice feeling far from him. “Everything’s different. I don’t know how, but…it’s out of alignment. I’m with Draco. We’re in the Room of Requirement. There’s Fiendfyre. We’re running, but it’s too strong. Harry pulls Draco onto the back of his broom. And I…” He stared as the flames bore wolf’s jaws and dragon’s talons, as they mauled him with flame and he burned alive.

He snapped out of the vision as his other self died, and he pushed himself hard away from the table and stood. “What the fuck was that?!”

“That was very impressive, that’s what that was,” Professor Trelawney answered.

“Impressive?!”

“You reached an alternate reality on your first try. Very impressive, indeed.”

“What?” He felt his knees weaken.

Professor Trelawney leaned forward on the table. “What you saw was a world where the Switch never happened,” she informed him. “In time, I can teach you how to recognize where the timeline deviates from our own. It’s like a stamp--”

“I don’t plan on learning,” Vince said. “I don’t want to ever see anything like that again!”

“Then fire will claim you!” She yelled. She took a deep breath and reached for her teacup of whiskey. Finishing the cup and placing it on its saucer with a loud clink, she stared at Vince with regret. “Every future I have looked into for you, fire claims you. You just saw for yourself. That vision was only a year and a half left to live. How long do you think you have in this reality?” She stood up and took his hand. “I will teach you. You will learn how to walk with fire, instead of blindly running into it.”

“…you’re saying…that no matter what…”

“You will burn,” she said solemnly. “But you have the potential to become the next Great Seer. I want to take you on as my apprentice. If you seize your potential, you can prolong your life by seeing where fire waits for you.”

He ripped his hand from hers. “You’re crazy,” he whispered, but he could feel her words were truth. “You’re a drunk, you’re a fake, and you’re crazy.” He rushed out as fast as he could, but everywhere he went, the eyes of the castle torchlight followed him.

*

Ron waited by the Fat Lady, trying to look cool and casual while his pulse spiked every time the portrait discharged exiting students. 

“Your sister says tonight’s a big night for you,” the Fat Lady said with a saucy wink.

“My sister needs to keep her bloody mouth shut,” Ron muttered.

The portrait swung open and Hermione stepped out and smiled at him. Ron gulped--this was really happening. “Hey,” he said, feeling stupid. What did he usually say to her?? 

“Hi,” Hermione said. She brushed her hair behind her ear nervously. “I did some reading--”

Four words, and Ron felt an avalanche of affection crash over him. 

“—and my sources all advise not to bring your wand to any Masking ritual. Have you got yours?”

“Yeah, McGonagall’s just gonna take them before we get started,” Ron explained.

“Oh – right, of course,” Hermione said. “I suppose I’m over-thinking again.”

“That’s the thing about Masking – it lets you let go of all that. You live only in experience.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever done that.”

“It’s hard for people to stop their thoughts,” he said. “But not over-thinking, just trusting the moment – it has its advantages.” He demonstrated by gently taking her hand.

_Oh god are my hands gross?_  
I wish I’d remembered to moisturize-  
His hand is so big-  
Don’t squeeze his hand.  
Don’t be a limp fish.  
I hope he doesn’t look at my fingernails-  
Maybe if I turn my hand he won’t see them- 

Hermione clamped down on the bombardment of thoughts. His hand was warm, secure, and fit around her own perfectly. “You’re right,” she said, breathless.

*

“Vince cast a swarm of locusts at me when I tried to ask him to join us tonight,” Greg explained as he worked on setting up his things in Draco’s room. “He said he wants to be alone. I guess Charlene turned him down or something. He seemed pretty upset.”

“Poor guy,” Draco said. He was clearing off his desk for Greg to use as a nightstand/dresser. “You know, he should ask out Euridice Brookbane. She’s way better suited for him than frickin’ Charlene ever was.”

“Yeah, but you know how he feels about dating out-of-House.”

Draco scoffed. “Ravenclaw isn’t so far removed from Slytherin.”

“You know how many times I’ve had that conversation with him?” Greg put a stack of folded shirts onto the desk. “Too many.”

Draco smiled. “Thanks for setting up base camp here with me.”

“Don’t mention it. We’ll have fun.” Having laid out his clothes and schoolbooks, he sat down on his bed. It was a tight fit getting the second bed charmed in, but the elves succeeded. “Are you still planning on meeting Harry tonight?”

“Yeah. And it’s either going to be amazing, or he’s going to kill me.”

Greg frowned. “Does Harry know how dangerous Blaise is?”

Draco nodded. “I told him everything.”

“…I don’t suppose you’d accept a curfew from me?”

“Not a chance.” Draco walked up to his friend and put a hand on his shoulder. “I appreciate your concern. Really, I do. But the best thing you could do is help me through the next couple days.”

*

Gold blossoms, brown leaves, and animal bones were garlanded across the Great Hall. The perimeter was set up with game tents, and stalls of food and drink. Professor Flitwick and Professor Sprout beat drums in the center of the room and the students learned circle dances.

Harry and Neville were exploring the outskirts, swapping muggle and wizarding expertise, when Harry’s button burned in his pocket. He made a quick excuse and skated to the Dynamics room, hoping everything was okay and glad that he had a reason to meet with Draco again tonight.

When Harry opened the door, he was surprised to see a black and silver rug laid over the floor with a medium sized, gleaming cauldron in the center. On the ground beside it, two fat black candles stood proud, with virgin wicks, naked of any holder. “What’s this all about?” Harry asked.

Draco had a silver dagger hooked through the belt at his shendyt. He smiled. “If you think you’ll need the bathroom in the next few hours, you better go now and come back quickly.”

“Er, no?”

“Good.” Draco stepped forward. “I’ve planned a surprise for tonight.”

“I can see that,” Harry said, flicking his eyes back to the ceremonial setup in the center of the room.

“Harry,” Draco began gently. He thought of the hundreds of ways he had rehearsed in his head, and tried to coax his anxiety into releasing its grip on him. “What do you know about Samhain?”

“…it’s an excuse for you to crossdress?”

“For the last time, this is men’s wear, Potter. If I wanted to crossdress, I would blow your mind.” 

“…wait…is that…do you…?”

“You’re so easy to wind up,” Draco laughed. “Now listen up. This is important.” He took Harry’s hand. “Samhain marks the moment we move from one year to the next – a time between time. When the world promises cold and darkness for the months to come, and for a single night magic rises to its strongest and the veil is at its thinnest. It’s a powerful time for communion with spirits.” He paused to gauge if Harry had caught on yet. “Necromancy is dark magic, dragging spirits away from peace and reanimating corpses. But Samhain is the one time of year when the veil is naturally permeable both ways. Spirits may return to our world, if invoked by ritual.” Harry’s eyes widened as he began to understand. Draco quickly continued, “Only a blood relative can invite a spirit to return, and only if the soul being called registered consent during their lifetime.” Harry’s hand was squeezing his very tightly. He squeezed back. “There is a ledger at the Ministry that automatically records the name of anyone who registers consent for future rituals. I used your handwriting to inquire about your family.” Harry felt his mouth go dry. Draco continued, “Your father signed up. So did Sirius. Your mother never did…but if you’re ready, I can use your blood to call James Potter, and you can use my blood to call Sirius Black.”

Harry stared silently for a long minute. “You’re saying…” He swallowed hard. “You’re saying we could see them? We could talk to them?”

“Yes. For tonight only.” The confirmation made Harry feel light-headed, his blood moving too fast through his body. “Do you need to sit down?” 

“No—” Harry said automatically, but Draco was right: he did feel unsteady. He pulled his wand from his belt and charmed his skates into boots. “I don’t understand,” he said. “Why haven’t I heard of this before?”

“It may be one of our oldest traditions, but it’s not widely accepted,” Draco explained. “It’s dark magic, it’s blood magic, and it’s an interruption to a soul’s afterlife. There’s a lot of witches and wizards who are actively against it.”

“Let me get this straight,” Harry said slowly. “This won’t hurt them?”

“No.”

“And I’d really be meeting my father--it would actually Be Him? Not…like a painting’s echo, but really, honestly him?”

“Yes.”

Harry felt fireworks in his chest – soaring explosions of hope, the lights of dazzling excitement, the smoke of apprehension. He stepped closer to Draco and cupped his face in his hands as if sheltering a butterfly. “You found a way to give me the impossible.” He leaned in and kissed the boy, his long fingers tenderly holding his face. “You have no idea…” He whispered between kisses. “…No idea what this means…”

Draco released a long sigh of relief into Harry’s mouth. He hadn’t been completely confident Harry would want to meddle in his parent’s afterlife, especially after his earlier qualms over blood magic. “As much as I enjoy this,” he whispered, kissing Harry again, “We do have a limited window tonight.”

Harry smiled and pulled back, still holding Draco’s face in his hands. He kept Draco there and stared at him. “Thank you. For everything.”

Draco put his hand over Harry’s and smiled. “Are you ready?”

“Not even remotely.” Harry dropped his hand and walked towards the cauldron. “What do we do?”

“That depends on who we call first,” Draco explained, stepping beside him. “Next year, we can call them at the same time, but tonight it has to be one by one if I’m going to teach you--”

“Sirius,” he interrupted. He needed to see his godfather before getting lost in meeting his dad.

“Alright, angel-prat,” Draco said with a grin. 

Harry smiled at him as his words sunk in: _next year, we..._ Harry’s joy felt carbonated, something effervescent rising to the surface.

Draco removed the dagger from his belt. “Pick up the candle you choose for Sirius,” he instructed. “Announce your intention that This is For Sirius Black as you light it, and set it inside the cauldron.” He smirked as Harry simply picked one at random without contemplating the nuances involved. 

“This is for Sirius Black,” Harry said. He aimed his wand at the wick and successfully lit the candle. Tucking his wand back through his belt, he thought about Nearly Headless Nick’s mortal wound and wondered if falling through the veil of death itself would’ve marked his godfather’s soul. Harry leaned over the cauldron and noticed there was a gold, shimmering liquid about an inch high inside. He glanced nervously at Draco, who nodded at him to keep going. The liquid was thick like molasses and suckled the candle’s bottom to the cauldron, keeping it steady.

“Now’s the tricky part,” Draco said, pulling the dagger from his belt. “Your blood has to fall across the flame without extinguishing it.” He took Harry’s hand and slit his palm. Harry unintentionally winced, the pain disproportionate to the injury. “Sorry,” Draco whispered. 

“It’s fine,” Harry said. 

Draco held Harry’s hand over the cauldron. “Always move in counter-clockwise motions,” he instructed as he moved the boy’s hand. Harry watched in fascination as his blood rained into the gold, across the candle wax, and finally sizzled through the fire. Draco pulled their hands away from the cauldron, and continued to pull Harry a few steps back.

Hope and fear rose to a fever pitch – _what if it didn’t work? What if it did work?_ The seconds of waiting were almost too much for Harry to bear.

The smoke from the candle began to discolour, widen, and Harry recognized the shape it was becoming. When fully formed, Sirius Black stepped out of the cauldron.

_“Harry,”_ Sirius said, beaming down at him. Harry stared, and realized not only was Sirius completely intact, but he had never looked happier in life. It broke Harry’s heart.

“I’m so sorry,” Harry blurted out. 

“Sorry?!” Sirius laughed. “I’m thrilled that you brought me forward!”

“Not that,” Harry felt steel bars contract around his ribs. “All I wanted was to save you, and I got you killed…”

“Slow down Harry,” Sirius said with an easy laugh. “That bitch Bellatrix got me killed.” Sirius pressed a hand to Harry’s chest, just as he had done a year ago. Harry closed his eyes, wishing he could feel his godfather’s warmth, marveling at the comfort something so simple could yield. “Harry, I need you to accept that. There’s nothing as scary as admitting powerlessness, but you had no control over what happened to me. It wasn’t your fault.”

Harry looked at Sirius and felt his eyes brim. “If I’d never gone--”

“If you’d never gone to the Ministry, it would mean you didn’t love me the same way. I’ll take death.”

Harry smiled. “I’ve missed you so much.”

“I’ve missed you too.” Sirius looked at Draco. “Thank you for making this happen.”

Draco was surprised to be directly addressed. He nodded at his second cousin. “I’m glad I could.”

“But Sirius, why didn’t you make this happen two years ago? For me and my dad?” Harry asked. “You knew he was signed up, didn’t you?”

Sirius grimaced. “I’m sorry, Harry…Yes, I knew,” he admitted. “And before you ask, so did Remus. But he believes that crossing the veil should be a one-way-only journey. He’d never have shown you. I should have, but Harry…I couldn’t do it.” The lines around his mouth tightened. “I couldn’t bear to face James…the shame of having nearly killed Peter when I escaped Azkaban, of having failed to live up to my obligations as your godfather…of everything I had become. I was terrified of his disappointment.” He shook his head gently. “But now I know – the dead see more truth than the actions of the physical realm. He knew me, and he loved me. I wish I hadn’t been so afraid.” 

“What do you mean, ‘see more truth’?” Harry asked anxiously.

Sirius smiled. “It’s like -- you see an ocean…and we see the drops, and everything between the drops.” He watched Harry for a moment and leaned forward. “Get that shame off your face. I love you. Understand?”

“But there’s so much…”

“I know,” Sirius whispered. “And I love you.”

Harry bit his lip. “I kept hoping that maybe you’d come back…I mean, you died from falling through an experiment in the Department of Mysteries, for Christ’s sakes. That’s not a normal death. And if it’s not a normal death, then maybe…” Harry shuddered. “There wasn’t even a body.”

“I’m really dead, Harry. No loopholes, no tricks.”

“I know. But all summer, I hoped.” 

Draco put a soothing hand on Harry’s back.

“We all wish we could still be with you. Your mom, your dad. Speaking of your dad!” Sirius grinned suddenly and shot a wink to Harry as he announced to the unlit candle on the ground: “Prongs, I’m working through some heavy stuff with Harry. You’ll understand if we wait until next year to invoke your spirit, right?” The air went cold around them. Sirius continued goading, “Yeah, I think that would be for the best. So sorry, James, but I need some time with my godson.” Smoke rose from the bare wick and combusted into a small sputtering flame. Sirius roared with laughter. “I swear, he’d conjure himself if he could!”

“I have never seen a spirit do that,” Draco said, impressed. He turned to Harry. “Your father is very strong.” Harry laughed, marveling at the tiny flame. “With your permission…?” Draco asked, indicating the candle.

“Do it,” Harry said.

Draco picked up the candle. “This is for James Potter,” he said, then muttered, “As if he hadn’t laid claim to it already…” He took his wand from its holster at his hip and added fire to the burning wick, making the flame strong. He tucked the candle into the cauldron and slit his palm. Drops of blood sweat down the wax as the flame burned high.

The smoke began to take shape.

*

Pansy lifted the trap door to Professor Trelawney’s classroom. She squinted in the darkness and drew her wand. “Lumos,” she whispered, voice automatically quiet in the unknown.

The Seer sat in a plain wooden chair at a small round table, an empty matching chair across from her. She waited in the darkness, drinking directly from a bottle. “Child,” she rasped. “Sit.”

Pansy lead with her wand, slowly stepping around bolts of fabric, a chalk message in a strange language, and broken glass. “What happened?” She was still whispering.

“Illumination is messy. I often fear that light is nothing but a signal of darkness moving.” She pressed the glass bottle to her mouth and took long drags. She set it back down to her side on the floor. “Are you prepared to see how the darkness moves?”

“Yes,” Pansy agreed, and she sat across from her Professor.

“Put out your wand.”

“But…”

“Leave if you plan to waste my time.”

Pansy swallowed. “Nox.” She placed her wand on the tabletop and folded her hands in her lap.

“Match your breath to mine.” The professor began to take loud, slow breaths and Pansy did her best to time hers accordingly. The sandpaper crack of a wooden match being lit startled her. Pansy had never even seen matchsticks before; the use of something so primitive instead of wandwork gave her the creeps. Professor Trelawney lit two tapered candles and waved the match out. “Ask singular questions, choose a card, and uncover it.” She brought out a small deck of cards. They looked to be child sized, or perhaps made for goblins. She spread them across the table top, their backs a mass of plain white. “Begin.”

Pansy held her hands tightly in her lap. She stared at the cards. _Be kind,_ she implored silently. “Is my child a boy or a girl?” She reached out, and found both her eyes and her hand drawn quickly to one card. She turned it over.

The card was inky black, and blank. Fear filled her lungs like sand. The card began to bleed colour from the center, swirling in patterns that were unrecognizable to her.

“You have a daughter,” Trelawney said. She picked up the card and placed it closest to her at her left, still face-up.

Pansy swallowed. _A daughter._ She was surprised that the Seer’s words made everything feel more real than the Healer’s words did. “Can I protect her?” Pansy knew that carrying the Chosen One’s child would make both her and her baby immediate targets. She reached out, and her hand was uncertain. She wavered across several cards, and finally selected one and turned it. The card was black again, but did not remain so for long; spears of colour rimmed the edges of the card and struck into the center.

“No,” Professor Trelawney began, studying the card closely. “There is a lot here, let me untangle it…” She squinted at the lines. “She has two fathers. Being conceived during the Switch means she has received Harry’s bloodline, but she’s formed by Draco’s spirit. This is one of very rare instances where a child naturally has three parents.” She looked up at Pansy. “The child was also conceived while all three of her parents were cursed.” Pansy furrowed her brow in confusion and the professor elaborated, “The Hogwarts Secret is a curse that prohibits any soul within the school from speaking a given subject. Your daughter will be born unable to speak at all.” Professor Trelawney looked down at the card again. “The day she arrives at Hogwarts her voice will be unlocked--” the professor smiled. “—it appears she will be a talented singer…But she will only have seven years until she graduates, and then her voice will be lost to her forever.”

Pansy hadn’t thought about what ramifications the curse might have on her child. She was shocked to hear it, but she could overcome the challenge. She’d start learning sign language immediately, she’d learn charms that would translate sign to written form so her daughter wouldn’t need to rely on interpreters…Pansy knew she could handle this. If she could keep her daughter safe from their enemies. “I meant—”

“I am not done.” Trelawney snapped, then softer, added, “There is a lot here, let me go through it. If you say more, we lose the card we have to a new one. Let me finish this first.” She looked down again, her eyes tracing the lines and colours and positions. “She will survive the war, but not unscathed.” Reading a colour carefully, she concluded, “She will be discovered and taken prisoner by those you fear. And as I explained before, the curse has already ravaged her. So your answer is no: you cannot protect her.” The professor took the card and added it to the right of the one taken before.

Heavy-hearted, Pansy asked, “Will I raise her alone?” _Will my family disown me for becoming pregnant with a bastard? Will Draco and I marry?_ She turned a card. Deep slow swirls rippled from the bottom, pushing upwards.

“You will not raise her at all,” Professor Trelawney said gently. “When she is discovered, you will be tortured. I cannot tell if you survive, but you won’t be capable of caring for a child. Harry adopts her. Their relationship is a strong one, she grows to love him as a father.”

Pansy felt cold fear prick its frost through her lungs. _Tortured?_ She swallowed hard. “Harry raises her? But…where’s Draco?”

“Dead.”

Pansy’s eyes grew wide, her jaw left slightly open and her lip trembled. The professor took her card and set it to the right of the one before it. 

“Does--” Pansy’s voice cracked and tears fell through. “Does Draco live, if she isn’t born?” Her fingers were weak as she reached for a card, and she had to try twice to flip it properly. Spots of colour emerged in multiple places, the colours running to the bottom.

“It is unclear,” The professor intoned. “But it is the only line in which he has a chance.” She took the card, adding it to the lineup.

“Then there’s nothing left to ask,” Pansy whispered.

“Are you certain?”

Pansy stood up numbly. “Thank you for your time,” she heard herself saying. She picked up her wand and felt her essence draining out of her with every step as she left.

*

Smoke warbled and warped, and in moments James Potter stood in the cauldron. 

“Yes!” he bellowed, leaping high and landing each foot on opposite sides of the cauldron’s edge, standing atop it. “About time!” He crowed to the sky. James nimbly jumped down and stood before his son. “I have wished for this day for so long…” Before Harry could say a word, James reached forward as if to hug him – letting his arms wrap around his son, and through as he pulled inward. Harry gasped at the sensation – it was ice cold, the taste of raspberries filling his mouth like blood. James held the feeling to his chest, reveling in the sensation of warmth and the smell of grass. 

Harry couldn’t believe how young his dad looked – he looked like he could be Harry’s brother. He knew his parents had died young, but the point never struck home as strongly as it did in that moment. “Dad…” Suddenly, Harry didn’t know what to say.

“I am so proud of you,” James interrupted. Harry felt like his bones had turned to glass, his body too heavy on their frame. “Your mother and I watch you often, and by gods…you’re brave, and kind, and we love you so much.”

“I miss you, every day,” Harry said. “I found the Mirror of Erised when I was eleven, and I wanted to stay with it forever just so I could be with you.”

“It wasn’t really us…”

“I know. But an empty mirror and my imagination would still be better guardians than the Dursleys,” Harry joked softly.

 

James turned furious. “Oh, the _Dursleys_ – I would love to haunt the shit out of them for what they’ve done to you!”

Sirius looked angry too. “Harry, why the hell didn’t you tell me about them before?! I would have moved mountains to get you out. You knew I grew up abused.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry fumbled, eyes downcast.

“I don’t want an apology,” Sirius said, a little exasperated. “I want you to protect yourself with at least half as much dedication and compassion as you try to protect every other living thing!”

“You’d said you couldn’t take me along with you because you’d have to go into hiding, and my being along would make it easier to track you. I couldn’t let you risk the Dementor’s Kiss because I couldn’t hold my own at the Dursleys.”

“I only insisted on that because I thought you had a loving home to return to!”

James looked imploringly at Harry. “Promise me you won’t return to the Dursleys.”

Harry felt a little sick. “Dad…I can’t just not return,” he said. “Believe me, I’d love to promise that. But Dumbledore won’t allow it.”

“He’ll be of age by his next birthday,” Sirius reminded his friend.

Harry felt embarrassed to correct his godfather as he said, “I’m only turning seventeen on my next birthday.”

“That’s wizarding legal age,” Sirius smirked. “You can crash with the Weasleys at the end of school for two months, and then once you’re legal—boom!—go get some little place in one of the wizarding villages.”

“One thing we were able to do for you, at least, is set you up financially,” James said. “You could live anywhere once you have full access to your inheritance.”

“Dumbledore might make me go back for one last round…”

“I don’t care what Dumbledore wants,” James said. “I don’t care how powerful he is, I don’t care about his plans. I just want you safe.”

Harry felt a deep ache in his heart. “Thanks,” he said.

“I hate that you’ve had to live through so much pain,” James said. “There isn’t an Unforgivable strong enough for what I want to do to the Dursleys.”

“Can I ask you something?” Harry looked at his dad. “It’s….a weird question.”

“Anything.”

“…How did you die?”

James smiled. “That’s not weird.” He pulled aside his robes, and there was a small blackened hole that went through his chest. “The Dark Lord hit me with a curse that paralyzes the body, and in slow motion the blast mark burns until it exits from the other side. I felt it moving through my heart when your mother screamed. Technically, I died after her.”

“That’s why I saw you first after Priori Incantatem…”

Draco raised his eyebrows. “You’ll have to tell me about that one later,” he said to Harry.

James smoothed his robe back to cover the wound. “You must have a million questions. I’ve been able to watch and learn a lot about you, and you’ve had so little information on us…”

Harry relaxed, grateful for permission to ask questions without feeling like an interrogator--he wanted to know everything. “How’d you learn to fly?”

James smiled at his son’s eagerness. “Your grandmother was part of a performance troupe of extreme aerial dynamics back when she was your age. She could outfly a Pegasus, she was incredible. I was on a broom before I could walk, much to your grandpa’s worry.”

“He didn’t like flying?”

“Oh, he liked flying, he just didn’t want his wife tossing their toddler through the sky like a quaffle.”

Harry and Draco laughed. 

James sighed. “Great Stribog, I wish I could take you flying! There was so much I wanted to teach you.”

The idea made Harry smile sadly. “I can imagine. Mum hated flying though, right?”

Both James and Sirius cracked up laughing.

“A little,” Sirius said sarcastically.

“Your mum was terrified of heights,” James said. “Flying was the absolute worst for her. I think she only ever flew a broom the once…”

“Yeah, a whopping two feet off the ground!” Sirius laughed.

“Hey, at least she tried,” James defended.

“Yes. She was very trying.”

“She’s gonna whoop your ass for that when we return,” James crowed.

“You mean she’s watching?” Harry asked. 

“Of course she’s watching,” James said. “I’m so sorry she can’t be here. I thought I had a lifetime to persuade her to sign consent… I shouldn’t have let it go, knowing there was a war on.” 

“It’s okay,” Harry said, not wanting his dad to blame himself for anything.

“Sometimes you’re too forgiving,” James said gently.

“There’s nothing to forgive,” Harry insisted. “It’s no one’s fault.”

“She was overly sensitive to the idea of meddling with the afterlife,” James tried to explain. “Especially since Snivellous chose the dark arts over their friendship, and she chose to lose her best friend and not pursue necromancy further.” 

Harry felt like his blood was congealing in his veins. “So it’s true then,” he said. “They were, ah…close?” He struggled with the word.

James wrinkled his nose. “Yeah,” he admitted. “They had a strange love for each other. But their feelings didn’t align—he wouldn’t give up his path, and she refused to walk it.”

“Lucky for you,” Sirius said with a nudge to his best friend. James grinned. 

“Did you want more kids?” Harry asked.

“Definitely,” James said. “At least four.”

Harry imagined life as a big brother. He ached for the lost possibility.

Draco asked, “What would you have named Harry if he had been a girl?”

With a smile, James answered, “Roxanne Petunia Potter.”

“ _Roxanne?!_ ” Draco repeated.

“ _Petunia?!_ ” Harry echoed.

“Yeah, little Roxie, my Rocky. And yes, Petunia – your mother was still missing her sister quite a lot back then.”

“I’m so grateful I’m a guy,” Harry muttered with a grin.

“Why’d you choose to name him Harry?” Draco asked.

“We fought for ages over what to name him,” James said. 

“Lily was stuck on calling him Benjamin,” Sirius remembered. 

James made a disgusted look. “Ugh, _Benny,_ no way was any son of mine being named Benny!”

“Oh yeah? Tell them what you wanted to name him!”

“Cirroc.”

Sirius slapped his thigh laughing. “Cirroc!”

Harry moaned. “How would you even spell that?! Dad, that’s awful!”

“It’s a proud name!”

“A proud name?!” Sirius challenged. “That name can only offer humiliation and a lifetime of bullying!”

James smiled mischievously and turned to Harry and Draco. “Speaking of bullies. You two. What gives?”

Harry felt his face burning. “Dad!” He hissed. 

“Oh, come on, indulge me! Draco: what are your intentions towards my son?”

“If you weren’t already dead, I might kill you for this,” Harry muttered.

“I can assure you my intentions are pure,” Draco began solemnly, “I only wish to shower him with love and semen.”

“Draco!” Harry shot, utterly scandalized that he’d say something like that to his dad. Both Marauders burst out laughing. Harry felt his blush deepen. “Don’t mind me, I’m just gonna blow out these candles…”

“We’re only playing around,” Draco pouted, taking Harry’s hand. 

“And if I pulled a stunt like that with your parents you’d skin me alive.”

“Not while you’re in my body,” Draco offered innocently.

Harry laughed and squeezed Draco’s hand. He looked nervously back to his dad. “You know who Draco’s father is, yeah?” Draco felt his shoulders tighten in anticipation.

James nodded. “A Death Eater. Yes, I know; I don’t judge people based on their family. My gods, if I did that, Sirius and I never would have become so close!”

“And…you don’t mind that he’s a bloke?”

“Of course not!” James said. “I don’t care how you find that happiness, as long as it doesn’t hurt anyone.”

Harry pressed on, “Would mum have minded?” _She was, after all, sisters with Aunt Petunia…_

“Not one bit,” James said. “She’d have given you a very long-winded and embarrassing talk about safe sex with muggle and wizard partners. But she would be so happy for you to find love in any form.”

Harry looked up at Sirius.

“Kid, if you don’t know my answer, I’m going to smack you.”

“Well, we never really talked about that stuff...”

Sirius sighed. “Cousin-mine, a little help?”

Draco slapped the back of Harry’s head. 

“Ow!” Harry turned to Draco with a grin. “You are such a prat!”

“But I’m your prat.”

“Yes,” Harry agreed with adoration, “You are.”

*

It was nearly sunrise when the ceremonial candles burned out and James and Sirius were forced to return beyond the veil. 

Recognizing the fragility in Harry when he had to say goodbye, Draco offered to walk him to Gryffindor Tower. They snuck through the corridors and dove behind the statue of the Ogre Valiant when the Grey Lady floated by.

When they arrived at Gryffindor, the Fat Lady shrewdly glared at them. “You’re out at quite an indecent hour.”

“Sorry,” Harry said without any remorse at all. Smiling, he turned to Draco. “Everything about tonight was perfect.”

“Remember that when we have to be at breakfast in three hours,” Draco teased.

Harry moaned. “Don’t say that…” He stepped in closer to Draco, resting their foreheads together and holding him by the hips. Draco drew his arms up around Harry’s neck. Both boys closed their eyes. Harry imagined that Draco was in his own body and felt his breathing start to quicken. _Draco Malfoy, in my arms._

Harry kissed him. Draco eagerly kissed back, stroking a hand through his hair. Harry felt a hyper-alert rush stirring his body, and he needed more. He pinned Draco against the wall and felt the boy bite his lower lip, dragging him in. The bruising, claiming feeling lit something inside Harry, and he wanted to discover what it was. Draco’s mouth turned from his and pressed along his jawline, laying kisses up to his ear and sucking his neck. “Oh…” The sound fell from Harry’s mouth, and he pulled Draco’s hips closer to his own. The silver dagger tucked through the belt of Draco’s shendyt pressed against Harry’s thigh, and it gave him an idea. He pulled the dagger out, which surprised Draco into looking up at him. Harry slipped his fingers inside the waistline of the shendyt, running them teasingly from side to side, making Draco’s breath hitch. He centered his hand and gripped the fabric, while his other hand brought the dagger to the Slytherin’s hipbone. The dagger tip penetrated the fabric and Harry rapidly drew it down and away from the boy’s body. Draco gasped. The roar of fabric tearing echoed in the empty hall until Draco was left with long slits on either side that nearly removed the garment entirely. Harry tucked the blade into his boot and lifted Draco, thrusting his back against the wall. 

Draco wrapped his legs around Harry’s waist. He could feel the back of the shendyt fall from his body as his legs pulled up, exposing him. Harry’s hands stroked under his thighs, making Draco grind into him with need. “Harry,” Draco moaned. The kiss was a battle, teeth tongue and lips seeking conquest. 

The distinctive sound of a camera shutter fired.

Draco and Harry sprang apart and turned towards the sound. Colin Creevey stood clutching the cumbersome wizarding camera. He had never been so grateful to have gotten up early to photograph the sunrise.

“Colin…” Harry began.

Colin held up the photograph that ejected from his camera. “The price of my silence is this photo,” he squeaked, wide-eyed and uncertain if his terms revealed too much.

Shocked, Harry turned to Draco. Draco smiled coyly and said, “Make us copies and you have a deal.” Colin nodded in agreement and Harry laughed, marveling at Draco’s brazenness. 

“You,” Harry said, kissing Draco softly on the mouth, “Are absolutely deviant.”

“Wanna find out how right you are?” Draco asked, voice low and sultry.

“Oh yes…” Harry flicked his gaze to Colin, and realized he was staring at them hungrily with his camera at the ready. “…But not here.”

“Lead the way.”

Harry took Draco’s hand and the two of them dashed down the hall and into the first classroom they could find. 

The stone walls were carpeted with animal skins, the desks and chairs constructed from horn, tusk, and bone. The smell of rich leather and musk filled the air.

“Nox,” Harry said. The torchlight snuffed, darkness leapt from waiting in corners to fold itself around the room. Even after six years, Harry was still surprised at the level of darkness Hogwarts could achieve without muggle light sources radiating nearby.

He turned quickly and slammed Draco up against the wall. With tender fingers he reached out to find his cheek, his jaw, and using the spatial reference leaned in for a bruising kiss. Draco keened under him, strange furs prickling his bare back. He gripped a fistful of Harry’s shirt and said, “Evanesco.” The shirt vanished, leaving him in the chest harness and jeans. A shiver snaked down Harry’s spine at the unexpected cold air. He kissed Draco again, and couldn’t help the gasp as Draco pressed against him, their bare chests skin to skin. Harry was nearly dizzy from it. The heat, the intention, the intimacy – it was a lot for someone who went a decade of his life without a single loving touch. He wanted more.

He ran his hands up Draco’s back, pulling him even closer, and let his mouth press urgent kisses like prayer blindly across his skin as he mapped his way to Draco’s neck. Draco tilted his head back as Harry sucked at his throat, making Draco’s cock throb in jealousy. Draco trailed his fingers up Harry’s chest and began pinching and plucking at his nipple. “Ohh,” Harry moaned, quickly pulling up to kiss him again. Draco enjoyed the kiss and then lowered himself to lick at the hard little nub. Harry was amazed – never in his life had he considered his chest something erotic. The few times he would masturbate, his hand would go straight to his groin. 

Draco gently took it between his teeth and pulled back as far as he could. _“Yes,”_ Harry hissed. Smiling around his prize, Draco flicked his tongue against it as his teeth kept their hold. Harry made a desperate little noise and his hips pumped forward automatically. The moment Draco let go, Harry gripped his arms and brought him back up against the wall, flattening every inch of himself against the boy. His cock was swollen and aching, and the absolute electricity of pressing it against Draco Malfoy was enough to tighten his nerves into white-hot shocks of pleasure through his entire body. Draco ground himself against Harry, his erection as hard as bone. They frotted against each other for a long time, kissing and biting. Draco undid Harry’s belt, the button to his jeans, slowly pulling the zipper. He could feel Harry trembling in need. He reached a hand just inside the waistband of his boxer shorts when Harry gripped his wrist, stopping him. 

Draco broke their kiss and wished he could see Harry’s eyes in the darkness. “You okay?” 

“Yeah,” Harry croaked. He didn’t move his hand.

“We can slow down…”

“No, I want this. I want this so badly. It’s just--” Harry closed his eyes, even though he couldn’t see with them open, in a subconscious attempt to reduce the sensory input he was experiencing. “—It’s just overwhelming. I’m still getting used to hugging my friends,” Harry said with a small laugh. “I just need a second…”

Draco kissed him gently and whispered against his lips, “It’s okay.” But Harry hadn’t released or moved his hand. Draco kissed him again, more lingering this time, and assured him, “Let’s just stick with what we’ve been doing – the rest can wait.”

“Fuck waiting,” Harry said. “I’ve been waiting for you my whole life.” Still holding Draco’s hand, he slowly moved it down over his crotch. Harry sharply inhaled, his mouth opening, the world dissolving into Draco’s fingers gripping his cock. He pulled his own hand away to rest against the back of Draco’s neck, needing an anchor to cling to.

“Harry, Harry, Harry,” Draco chanted as he stroked him. “You’ve been my focus for years. My every thought how to get your attention.” He expertly pulled the foreskin back and let his thumb rub across the tip. “Have I got your attention now?”

“Yes,” Harry panted.

Draco grinned and increased his speed, pumping his fist up and down the shaft, making Harry feel weak in the knees. “You’re finally mine,” he whispered into Harry’s ear, wet lips brushing the sensitive skin.

“Yours,” Harry agreed.

Draco slid to his knees and dragged Harry’s trousers and pants down. Harry’s heart was a wild bird beating its wings a hundred times per second. His eyes fluttered shut while Draco ran his hands teasingly up and down Harry’s thighs. Draco kissed his knee before reaching to take his cock. He pumped it, letting the tip brush against his parted lips on each downward thrust. When Harry started to squirm in need, he took the head into his mouth. Harry moaned long and low. Draco flicked his tongue and sucked the head while his fist continued to work the shaft. He tried to take more in, but was surprised by the intensity of Harry’s gag reflex. Stubbornly, Draco forced himself to push his boundaries, wanting more than anything to make this good for Harry and knowing he could do this if only they were in their correct bodies. He sucked the underside of his cock from tip to base, then licked and sucked at his testicles before returning to blowing him. His jaw ached and his eyes welled up every time he tried to take his cock too far, but he didn’t care. He wanted to make Harry tip over the edge into orgasm – to fall with him.

“Fuck…” Harry groaned. He gasped suddenly, “Draco!” He barely pulled back in time, not wanting to cum yet. He dragged Draco up to his feet and kissed him. Draco melted in his arms, pleased at the force of Harry’s enjoyment. “My turn,” Harry said with an endearingly possessive growl. He unhooked the jeweled belt and tossed it to one side, a loud _clank!_ resounding as the metal struck the stones. Without the belt, Draco’s shendyt fell to the floor, leaving him in Y-fronts. Harry knelt, raking nails down Draco’s thighs as he licked up Draco’s cloth-covered cock. Using his teeth, he took the elastic of his pants and yanked them down his thighs. He let them fall to the floor. “Step up,” he said. 

Draco smirked. “You’re awfully precious about it,” he said as he obediently stepped out of them.

“I’m really not,” Harry said, grinning and picking up the pants. “But I decided you won’t get these back. Evanesco.”

Draco’s jaw dropped. “Harry! After what you did to my shendyt, I’m going to flash myself every time I take a step!”

“I know. Just think how many steps it’ll take you to get to Slytherin.”

Draco felt the blush heat his face and his cock twitched in excited betrayal.

Harry took his cock in hand and tried to breathe out his nervousness. _He’s in my body, I know what that body likes. I can do this._ His anxiety took a sudden turn and he was buried in the hateful slurs the Dursleys shoveled over him, and he realized he was everything they named him. _Fag. Freak. Queer._ He stroked Draco’s cock slowly. He would rather be a freak than Not have this with Draco. Harry felt his chest swell. Knowing Draco couldn’t see him, he mouthed silent words: “I love you.” He took Draco into his mouth and felt his throat open to him.

“Fuck,” Draco cried.

Harry moaned around the cock in his mouth, causing vibrations that made Draco whimper in delight. With one hand resting on Draco’s thigh, Harry quickly found his rhythm and was amazed at how turned on he felt doing this. He loved having Draco’s hot cock in his mouth, stretching his lips and hitting the back of his throat – the smell, the taste… 

Draco reached for the hand Harry kept on his thigh and intertwined their fingers. Harry felt beautifully, achingly elated. He squeezed his hand.

Harry inhaled deeply and decided to try something. He purposely choked himself with Draco’s cock, feeling it enter his throat, and swallowed. The contraction of Harry’s throat muscles squeezed around the head of his cock in a way Draco had never experienced before.

“Veles,” Draco gasped. 

Harry wondered what that meant, but decided it must be a good thing when he felt Draco quiver under his hand. He pulled back and gasped, throat more than a little sore. He grinned as Draco joined him on his knees. Draco kissed him passionately. “What was that?” he asked in awe.

“Dunno,” Harry rasped. “Just thought I’d try it.”

“Bloody Gryffindor,” Draco teased, kissing him. “You’re amazing.” He reached forward and gripped Harry’s cock tightly. “Let’s finish together, yah?”

Harry took Draco’s cock in hand and they both wanked each other off simultaneously. Draco paused in his ministration and tugged Harry’s balls as he beckoned, “Come closer.” Harry shifted closer until Draco released him. They were almost chest-to-chest, they were so close. Draco used both hands to press their cocks together. Harry nearly lost it right then and there, he couldn’t believe how damn good it felt to have his cock touching Draco’s. Draco began stroking up and down their length, needing both hands for the combined width. Harry’s eyes rolled to the back of his head, and he pumped into Draco’s hands, feeling Draco’s cock rock-fucking-hard against his own, and his entire body gave a jolt as his orgasm hit. Draco came moments after, feeling the mixture of his and Harry’s jizz coating his belly. He swiped his finger in the combination and pressed it to Harry’s lips. Harry moaned and sucked Draco’s finger until it was clean. They kissed a long, lazy kiss of bliss and comfort.

Harry tried to cast a charm to clean the mess, and failed. He tried again, to no avail. He laughed. “I’m tapped out,” he admitted.

Draco grinned and cast the charm successfully. 

Harry gave him a gentle kiss. “Thanks,” he said with a grin.

They slowly got up and got dressed in the dark. Standing before the doorway, Draco wrapped his arms around Harry’s neck and kissed him. It was a long moment before they were ready to open the door; neither of them wanted to be visually confronted with the Switch in the immediate aftermath. 

“We’ll just step outside, and go in opposite directions,” Harry said.

“Right,” Draco agreed. 

They opened the door, eyes averted, and stepped into the light. “Don’t look back, Orpheous,” Draco warned as he walked away. 

Harry couldn’t help it. He turned, and knowing Harry too well Draco laughed as he kept walking.


	19. I See You

Harry felt like he had barely closed his eyes before the sound of his dorm mates getting ready for the day woke him. He groaned and clutched the blanket over his head, telling himself he’d get moving in just a minute.

Twenty minutes later, he heard Neville calling to him. “You alive in there?”

“Barely,” Harry said, forcing himself to sit up. He threw his blanket over his pillow as he had been doing ever since Draco charmed his tie to its edge. He drew back the curtain. He noticed it was just him and Neville in the room, and he rubbed some sleep out of his eyes. “Where’s everyone?”

“Showering,” Neville said, then did a double-take at Harry. He picked up his wand and moved to his friend’s side. “Tilt your head.”

“What are you doing?”

“Sparing you before Ron or Seamus get a look at you. Episkey.” Harry felt the charm tingle and cool against his neck. He absently rubbed a hand over the spot and looked quizzically at Neville. “You had ferret bites,” he said quietly.

Harry felt his heart stutter. He swallowed half a dozen reactions and instead asked, “How do you know about him?”

“Luna,” Neville admitted.

“Ginny,” Harry realized.

“Yeah.” Neville paused, then sat beside him. “You could have told me.”

Harry shook his head. “It’s not that easy. It’s not just my secret.”

“I get that,” Neville said. “Look, we don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. Or we can talk loads about it. Your call. Just know that no matter who you like, I’ll always be your friend. Don’t feel like you have to hide that stuff from me.”

Harry smiled. “Thanks.”

Neville grinned. “So, those marks the reason you abandoned me last night?”

Harry laughed. “Kind of,” Harry said, not wanting to explain just yet about seeing his dad and Sirius. “Sorry I ran off like that. I didn’t realize I’d be gone so long.”

“When did you get back in anyway? You weren’t here when we crashed.”

Harry gave an innocent shrug. “Maybe an hour ago?”

“What?! For real?”

“Something like that, yeah.”

Seamus walked in, naked and towel buffing his hair. “Oy, Sleeping Beauty’s finally awake!” He threw the towel at Harry and went to his dresser, pulling out clothes. “Neville, did you wake him with a kiss? Truth now.” Harry rolled his eyes.

“Hate to disappoint,” Neville said, “But I will _never_ kiss a bloke.” 

Seamus grinned. “I hear your silence, Harry.”

“What’s there to say?! I woke up late. Bite me.”

“Defensive much?” 

Seeing Harry was about to rise to the bait, Neville quickly interrupted. “Jump back in the shower, Seamus, you need a cold one.” The boy laughed.

Neville smiled at Harry and muttered, “Ignore him, yah?”

Harry nodded. “I know. It’s just…”

“I know.”

They grinned at each other. 

Realizing the time, Neville said, “I told Ginny I’d meet her and Luna early. You okay here?”

“Yeah, go,” Harry agreed. Neville squeezed his shoulder quickly and left as Ron exited the showers, dripping water all over the dorm floor.

“Harry!” Ron nearly bounced as he sat quickly at Harry’s side. “Last night. Oh my god. Everything about last night. Me. Hermione. It was…” He flopped backwards onto Harry’s bed and the duvet grew dark as it absorbed the water.

“Yeah?” Harry laughed. 

“Yeah,” Ron confirmed. Smiling at the ceiling, he boasted, “I kissed her.”

“That’s fantastic,” Harry said.

“Oy, we’ve been hearing the ‘I kissed her’ story all night and all morning. It’s old news!”

“Then stop listening and go away,” Harry shot back.

Seamus rolled his eyes and continued loading his book bag for the day’s lessons.

Harry turned back to Ron and asked quietly, “How was it?”

Ron sighed, his smile growing larger. “I’ve kissed Lavender a million times. I’ve even kissed a few girls you don’t know about.”

“Your sister doesn’t count!” Seamus crowed. 

Ron sat up, furious, and Seamus laughed and bolted out the door. “Can we trade him for some quiet little Hufflepuff?”

“Hufflepuff’s way too smart to take him. Ravenclaw might enjoy experimenting on him though.”

Ron snorted. “Well, anyway…” he smiled again. “I’ve kissed a lot, and it’s bloody great every time. But kissing Hermione changed my world.” He sighed. “Who knew that romance and feelings and shit could make kissing so much better?!”

Sometimes Harry was amazed at the things Ron came up with. “So have you two planned a second date yet?”

Ron looked at him quizzically. “Whaddya mean, ‘plan’? Lavender and I never planned, we’d just hang out and stuff.”

“Take my advice. Plan a second date.”

Ron wrinkled up his nose. “Like, invite her to watch me play Quidditch?”

“Like, invite her to something _she’s_ interested in.” Harry clapped a hand on his back. “You’ll think of something.”

*

Harry went down to the Great Hall ahead of Ron, wanting to give him and Hermione a chance to meet and walk together alone. 

The tables were seating the last of the late-morning students when Ron and Hermione arrived, sitting across from him and holding hands.

“Good morning,” Harry said, grinning to see Ron so proud and Hermione so happy. “How was Masking?”

“Oh, Harry! I wish you could have participated. It was wonderful!” Hermione gushed. She launched into the details of the ritual when two envelopes were dropped in front of Harry. He turned and saw Colin standing at his side.

“For you,” Colin said, with a tap on the first, then he tapped the second and said, “Not for you.”

Harry felt a slow smile growing as he realized these must be copies of the picture Colin took last night – one for him, one for Draco, as promised. “Thanks,” Harry said. Colin smiled back, and making a decision fished a folded piece of parchment from his pocket. He dropped it on top of the envelopes and quickly walked away. Harry picked up the note, curious. It read, _If the two of you want more pictures, posed or candid, I’m game._ Harry wasn’t sure what Colin was implying by ‘candid’, but he smiled at the idea of a posed picture he could keep in his wallet. He looked down the table, catching Colin’s eyes as he reached his seat. Harry mouthed the word _maybe_ and grinned. Colin nearly tripped over his chair.

“Oy, what’s this?” Ron asked as he grabbed one of the envelopes.

“Ron!” 

Ron leaned back in his chair to keep the envelope out of reach and looked inside. 

He froze, then let the front legs of his chair slam back down. Harry huffed and folded his arms across his chest, waiting for his friend to work through his thoughts. 

“What is it?” Hermione asked. Ron silently passed her the envelope. Hermione looked uncertainly at Harry.

“You might as well,” he said, trying to hide his embarrassment.

Hermione opened the flap and peeked inside. “Oh…wow,” she said. She pressed the edges of the envelope to make it puff open more, needing to see as much of the photo as possible without taking it out. Draco’s bare legs wrapped around Harry’s waist. Harry pressing him against a wall. Bodies gently moving while they kissed fiercely…It sparked a delicious tension in her belly. She looked up at Harry. “This is really…very sexy.”

It was one of the last things Harry expected to hear from her. He felt the blush burn his face, but he smiled, shyly pleased. 

Ron put his head in his hands and muttered, “I didn’t need to hear that. I didn’t need to see that.”

“Then start respecting my privacy,” Harry said, his smile a challenge. 

Stealing one more look at the photo, Hermione reluctantly handed it back to Harry. “Colin won’t say anything, right?”

“No.”

“You need some serious concealment charms on that thing,” Ron said. “If Seamus ever saw it…”

Harry shuddered. “Point taken. Thanks.”

A dozen owls flew into the Great Hall. They all flew directly for Hermione, delivering scarlet envelopes in front of her.

“Bloody hell,” Ron exclaimed as he recognized the Howlers. Students from all Houses turned to watch, eagerly anticipating the scene. The smoke began to build from the letters and Ron knew he had only seconds to think of something, _anything,_ that could prevent Hermione’s humiliation. “Muffliato!” 

All twelve Howlers erupted at once, shrieking, “Slut! Whore! Slag!” Hermione sat up straight, staring directly at the Howlers, her eyes patient and furious. She could feel the other students watching for her reaction. She folded her hands in her lap, a move that appeared calm and poised, but its purpose was to hide her shaking hands. Hermione truly hated screaming. Finally, the letters exhausted themselves and combusted, piling into soot over her breakfast plate. Defiantly lifting her chin a little higher, she smiled and announced loudly, “Twelve at once. I suppose what one can’t say in words, one may as well say in volume…”

Vicious giggling and chitters of gossip rippled through the students. Hermione turned to Ron and said quietly, “Thank you for the charm. That was clever.”

He smiled in relief. “I wasn’t sure if it could muffle something so loud, but it was all I could come up with.”

“Are we thinking this was from Lavender?” Harry asked.

“I knew she was crazy but I didn’t think she’d do something like this!” Ron said.

Hermione glanced down the table and saw Lavender smiling smugly at her. The sight made her blood boil. “Don’t get mad,” Hermione said, bracing herself for a public display. “Get even.” Hermione turned to Ron and kissed him. Cheers blew along the Gryffindor table and caught through the old D.A. members in other Houses. Harry applauded, grinning hugely. 

Draco smiled at the Gryffindor table. “I can’t believe Pansy’s not here to see this,” he complained softly. He had been so eager to tell her how last night went, but Millicent said she was staying in bed sick today.

“Tell me about it,” Greg muttered. “I bet her five galleons back in Year Four that they’d get together.” Jokingly, he added, “Bitch owes me.”

But nothing, not Greg’s provoking words, not the scene ahead of them, nothing cut through to Vince. He just stared numbly at his food, eating without tasting. Draco frowned at him, concerned. He and Greg had tried a few times to talk to their friend, but were only met with monosyllabic grunts and downcast eyes.

They had gently prodded him all morning to no avail. Draco decided he needed to be more direct. “Have you talked to Charlene?” When Vince said nothing, Draco continued. “Want us to shave her head and burn all her lingerie?”

“It’s not her,” Vince sighed, dropping his fork and scrubbing his face with his hands. 

“Then what?” Greg asked.

“Nothing.” Vince drank the rest of his tea. There, boldly confronting him from the bottom of his teacup, was the Grimm. He sputtered on half-swallowed leaves and stood up. Without a word of explanation, he took his cup and walked to the Head Table. 

Professor Trelawney was chatting animatedly, waving her arms for effect. Crabbe stood in front of her and passed her the cup. She halted mid-sentence. Neither of them spoke a word; she simply took the cup and left the table, Vince following behind her as they left the Great Hall.

“What the hell was that about?” Draco asked.

“Beats me,” Greg shrugged. “He hates Divination. I don’t know why he’d go to Trelawney for anything…”

Draco felt the back of his neck prickle as someone slid into Pansy’s empty seat. He turned to see Blaise smiling at him. 

Greg aimed his wand at Blaise. “Get out.”

“Relax,” Blaise purred. “If I wanted to try something, it wouldn’t be in the Great Hall, now would it?” 

“I have nothing to say to you,” Draco said quietly, forcing himself to meet Blaise’s eyes.

Undeterred, Blaise said, “I thought discussing my note over breakfast would be a continuation of the spirit of trust I established with my note.”

“Your note was hexed to attack me,” Draco snarled.

Blaise smiled at him like he was a child. “It warned you to listen. If you chose not to, then you brought it on yourself.”

“You broke into my room, and planted something designed to hurt me if I didn’t obey it!”

“It was a grand romantic gesture, and you’re missing the point!”

“Romantic?!”

“The point being that I built it so you could feel secure in knowing you weren’t being Charmed,” he said quietly. “Just as I come to you now, in public, so you can know the same.” 

“That’s not the only threat that makes me not trust you,” Draco whispered. 

“Well, whatever it is, we can work through it.”

“No we can’t.”

Blaise glanced across the table at Greg again and saw the boy still had his wand aimed for him. “Put that down, we’re trying to have a civilized conversation.”

Greg didn’t move.

“Greg…It’s alright,” Draco said. He couldn’t imagine Blaise doing anything stupid in public. Greg lowered his wand, but kept a firm grip on it. Draco looked at Blaise again. “We’re done.”

“Don’t say that,” Blaise growled. 

Draco shook his head. “You Charmed me into dating you. All summer, you kept me isolated from the people I love when I needed them most. I honestly believed I loved you…and I still don’t know how much of that was real, and how much of that was your will.”

“It was real,” Blaise insisted, gripping Draco’s wrist.

Draco looked down at where his ex held him. “You’re hurting me.”

Blaise refused to let go. “What we had, what we still have, it’s all real. That’s why I’m deliberately not using my Charm on you, I need you to learn how to believe in us again.”

Draco slowly raised his eyes. “You Charmed my boyfriend into staying away from me.”

Blaise’s lip curled. “Potter was never your boyfriend, because he could never love you the way I do.”

“I said you’re hurting my arm.”

With great inner struggle, Blaise released his hold. Draco continued, “He and I can overcome your Charm.”

Blaise studied him. “No,” he said carefully. “He can’t. But you can. And you did something to help pull him through it. Didn’t you?” Draco said nothing, knowing better than to freely give the information that it was Remus who countered the effects. Blaise smirked. “I saw the belief in his eyes. I know he couldn’t break through it alone.”

“Don’t ever go near him again.”

“I won’t have to, when you and I are together.”

“Blaise,” Draco said, anger starting to overpower the residue of past Charm that still shackled him. “Never go near him again.”

Blaise chuckled softly. He looked over at the Gryffindor table, and said absently, “If you refuse me, I suppose I could take comfort in your body.” He looked back at Draco. “Imagine: your devoted love, Charmed into my bed, screaming my name in pleasure as I take him. I promise he’ll love it. Until you break him free, and bring him whatever pain may come from that. Then we’ll repeat the cycle—Charmed and Broken, Charmed and Broken, until eventually his mind can’t reform and he’ll be nothing but an empty shell.” He smiled at the thought. 

Draco stared at him in horror. “When did you become this?” he whispered.

“Become what?”

“A monster…”

Blaise laughed and shook his head. “Believe me, I’m being kind. We’re discussing things, aren’t we?” He put a proprietary hand over Draco’s shoulder. “If I really were a monster,” he began, leaning in to whisper in his ear, “I could show you what rape really looks like. I wouldn’t waste time with your enjoyment, or preparing you. You think my Charm is strong? I know an arsenal of submission spells I could use to leave you incapacitated as I rip you open. And the best part?” Blaise licked Draco’s ear. Draco recoiled and Blaise pressed into his space again. “When I’m finished with you, I’ll leave you healed and Obliviated. I could have you every day, and no one—Not Even You—would know.” Blaise leaned back, and Draco felt ice in his chest. “But since we’re talking things through, there’s no need for any unpleasantness.” He let his eyebrows raise. “We _are_ talking things through, aren’t we?”

“You can’t threaten me into loving you,” he said, his voice shaking from fear and fury. Greg aimed his wand under the table at Blaise in case of escalation.

“You already love me,” Blaise insisted. “You just have to learn to trust me again.”

“Do you hear yourself?!” Draco snapped. “You talk about trust just seconds after--”

“Uh-uh,” Blaise interrupted. “Careful.”

Draco fell silent. If Blaise didn’t want to be overheard, that meant he feared being caught. Draco would keep quiet, only to maintain that fear. “Blaise,” he said slowly. “I don’t love you.”

Blaise stared at him in silence, and a tiny muscle by the corner of his mouth ticked. “I don’t understand.”

“I don’t love you,” Draco repeated firmly.

“This is the Switch,” Blaise said. “Something about Potter’s brain chemistry has scrambled your emotions--”

“You’re delusional!”

“It’s okay, I’ll help you--” Blaise reached for Draco’s arm again and Draco rapidly stood to his feet.

“Petrificus Totalus!” Greg cast. Blaise’s body turned entirely rigid and crashed to the floor, causing many students to turn to see the commotion. Draco nodded at Greg and the two of them left the Great Hall.

Hermione gripped Harry’s arm as he began to stand. “Give it a minute,” she said.

Harry grit his teeth and sat back down. She was right; he couldn’t be seen chasing after Draco. 

Ron watched as someone un-jinxed Blaise. “Zambini looks super-pissed,” Ron commented. “I thought he was friends with Malfoy?”

“They used to date,” Harry said.

Ron studied Blaise with a new lens. “Whatever went down, it’s not over for him.”

“Can I go yet?” Harry asked Hermione.

“One more minute,” she said. “I know how you feel Harry, but you can’t be reckless if you want to keep things secretive.”

“Where were Crabbe and Pansy?” Ron asked.

“What?” Harry asked.

“It was just Goyle and Malfoy during all this. So where’s the other half of his troupe?”

Harry shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“Dissention in the ranks?”

“No,” Harry argued. “Pansy’s loyal, and Crabbe went against Blaise to help me out yesterday.”

“What happened?”

Harry squirmed. “…Nothing, really. Just Blaise trying to get me to stay away from Draco. Crabbe got him to bugger off.”

Hermione released her hold. “Okay Harry--” Before she could finish telling him he could go, he had already stood up, stuffed the envelopes in his inner cloak pocket, and rushed off.

Harry went directly to the Dynamics room, figuring that was the nearest safe space. When he walked into the class he found both Draco and Greg standing in the centre. 

“Harry,” Draco said, relieved. He quickly went to the Gryffindor and threw his arms around his neck. Harry held him close and rubbed a hand soothingly up and down his back. 

“What happened?” Harry asked them.

Greg stepped forward. “You better watch yourself, Potter. Blaise is making threats against you if Draco doesn’t go back to him.”

Harry felt Draco shudder in his arms. He held on tighter. “I’d like to see him try,” Harry snarled.

“Don’t underestimate him,” came Draco’s muffled voice buried in his shoulder. 

Harry pulled back and tilted Draco’s face up to make him look at him. “Hey,” he said gently. “I’ve faced Voldemort four times now. I’m not afraid of your ex-boyfriend!”

“A little fear wouldn’t be misplaced,” Greg grumbled. “He’s unstable.”

“Just be careful,” Draco warned. 

“I’ll be careful when I hex the living shit out of him.”

“I mean it.”

Harry nodded. “I promise.”

Greg scuffed a shoe at the stones. “Make sure Draco doesn’t walk to lunch alone, yeah?”

“I’m on it.”

Greg nodded. “You shouldn’t walk alone either until things are…resolved.”

“Thanks for the concern,” Harry said.

Greg noticed that Harry wasn’t agreeing to the idea. “I’ll let you two talk in private.”

Harry nodded, and Greg left the classroom.

“What exactly happened at breakfast?” Harry asked.

“It started last night,” Draco said. Seeing the anger in Harry’s eyes, he added, “I didn’t tell you then because I didn’t want it to ruin our plans. I refused to let Blaise touch that.”

Harry realized Draco needed that control, and decided to let things slide. “Alright,” he said. “Tell me what happened.”

Draco explained the letter and the hex over his bed, then confided what Blaise threatened in the Great Hall.

Harry felt his gut tighten and his fists clench. “How long till the Ministry comes for him?”

“I’m not sure. It should only be another day or two…” Draco stepped forward and closed his eyes, resting his forehead to Harry’s. “What’s really sick is that part of me is still Charmed to want to save him.”

Harry wrapped his arms around him. 

*

“Go away!” Pansy shrieked at the poor House Elf who materialized in her room to clean. The tiny wrinkled creature nearly swallowed its tongue in fear as it squawked an apology and disappeared. She was still in bed, and had been crying all morning. She feared she didn’t have the strength or the energy to fake a smile for the world. Not this time.

She grabbed a handkerchief and blew her nose, her crying finally winding down from racking her entire body to just manifesting in sniffles and tears. She sucked in a deep breath and it accidentally left her in shaky pants. She tried again, this time managing to slow her breathing successfully. 

She couldn’t hide forever. She had to get a plan, and she had to find the strength to get through it.

But the enormity of what she had to do struck her anew, and she fell into despair. She wailed, an animalistic sound of pain and fear, and lost herself to tears once again.

*

“Skip class with me,” Vince asked Greg.

“What’s gotten into you?” Greg muttered, walking alongside Vince away from the direction of their next class. “Last night you hex me, you’re consulting with Trelawney this morning, and now you want us to blow off class together? What gives?”

“Everything is so fucked up,” Vince said. Greg was surprised at the level of emotion in his voice. “What’s the one thing I’ve been afraid of my whole damn life?”

“Divination,” Greg said softly.

“Too right, Divination,” Vince snapped. “It’s fucking caught up to me again.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Let’s go sit by the lake, I’ll tell you everything.”

*

The morning stretched long, and Harry and Draco were becoming desperate for caffeine by the time it was finally lunch. On exiting the classroom doors, they were surprised to find Ron and Hermione – holding hands and waiting for them. 

“Hey!” Harry exclaimed with a smile. 

“Hey,” Hermione said back. “We just wanted to check in,” she looked at Draco. “And make sure everything’s okay?”

Draco looked at Harry quickly. “It’s being handled,” he said delicately. “But Harry and I shouldn’t walk alone for a few days.”

“You’re the one we need to worry about,” Harry insisted. 

Draco rolled his eyes and looked at Ron and Hermione. “You two know better than to listen to his misdirection and tough-guy act, right?” 

“We can fluently translate stoic-Harry,” Hermione said.

“I’m not being stoic!”

“Yeah?” Draco challenged. “We’re facing the same threat. Are you saying I’m some helpless first year who needs a babysitter, while you Perfect Potter can waltz around with nary a care? Or are we both going to be careful?”

“You’re the real target in all this,” Harry argued.

“You need to value yourself more,” Draco said. “If for no other reason than because I will not accept any harm coming to what’s mine.”

Harry smiled and wished he could kiss him.

Ron watched them critically. He knew his friend always had a dangerous recklessness that seemed to come from a place of not caring about himself; could Malfoy lead him out of that? 

Harry turned to Ron and Hermione. “So I guess I shouldn’t really walk alone too much,” he acquiesced. “For a day or two.”

“Excuse us for one moment,” Draco said as he pulled Harry back inside the Dynamics room. The door barely clicked shut before Draco kissed him. Their lips pressed and curved around each other, their breathing hot and excited as tongues flicked and probed in claim. 

Hermione looked at Ron. “Do you think they’re…?”

“Yeah.”

“How are you holding up with all this?”

Ron pursed his lips. “I’m not sure,” he said quietly. It was a better answer than Hermione had expected. She squeezed his hand, and he squeezed back.

The door opened again and Draco stepped out looking exceedingly pleased with himself. Harry smiled shyly at his friends, and to his great relief they smiled back.

The hallway was starting to crowd with students walking towards the Great Hall for lunch when Pansy approached.

“ _There’s_ my favourite girl!” Draco said, giving her a hug.

“Funny, I was about to say the same thing to you,” Pansy teased automatically. Her smile felt like a fissure in her face.

“Ha, ha,” Draco said. “Where were you this morning? Millie said you were sick?”

Pansy wondered if Millicent actually heard her throw up earlier, or if she’d heard her crying; either Millie was ratting her out or covering for her. “Queasy stomach,” Pansy said. “Too many pumpkin pasties last night.” 

“I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

“Thanks.” Trying to act natural, she looked at Harry. “Could I have a word with you?”

Harry was surprised. “Yeah, sure thing.” He looked back and Ron and Hermione. “Can you guys walk with Draco to the Great Hall?”

“Of course,” Hermione agreed nervously, feeling Ron’s hand tense in hers.

Draco took Pansy’s elbow and pulled her closer, whispering, “What are you up to?”

“I’m just vetting him, chill,” she whispered back. She smiled at Harry. “C’mon, I know a good spot to talk.” 

Suspicious, Draco watched them walk off.

“Shall we?” Hermione said overly-cheerful. Draco nodded apprehensively and moved to her side. “Any idea what that’s all about?” Hermione asked as the three of them began to walk to the Great Hall.

Draco wasn’t sure, but he couldn’t admit that. “She probably wants to go over the politics of her and I publically dating, and what that entails.”

“Like occasionally sleeping with each other?” Ron asked. 

“Ronald!” Hermione snapped at him, pulling her hand out of his in anger.

Draco smirked. “It’s alright Granger, it’s a fair barb.” He looked Ron directly in the eyes. “That was a mistake. It won’t be repeated.”

Ron chewed his cheek to keep from saying something sarcastic. He was acutely aware that Hermione was not offering her hand back, and that stung him badly. 

After an awkward silence, Draco tried to spark conversation. “So, it would appear congratulations are in order,” he began. “How long have you two been an item?”

“Twenty eight hours,” Ron said. 

Hermione looked surprised. “You’re counting in hours?”

“Well, yeah.”

Hermione was beaming again, but still wasn’t offering her hand back. Ron knew what he had to do, but he really dreaded taking the plunge.

“That’s wonderful,” Draco said. “Most of Slytherin thought you two would get together eventually.”

“Really?” Hermione asked, pleased.

“What’d the rest of them think?” Ron muttered, then wanted to kick himself for antagonizing again. 

Draco grinned. “There were some theories about a polyamorous arrangement between you, Granger, and Harry.” Watching Ron’s expressive face contort between reactions was highly amusing.

“Huh,” Ron said eventually. “I guess I can live with that.”

“Don’t get any ideas, Weasley, he’s spoken for,” Draco teased. Despite himself, Ron smiled.

Hermione laughed. She was surprised to see they were nearly at the Great Hall, and she hadn’t wanted to hex Malfoy even once. 

Ron decided to dive in. “I hear you like chess,” he said. He made a conscious effort to make his voice sound neutral, without the dread he felt. “We should set up a game sometime.”

Both Hermione and Draco looked at him in shock.

“I…” Draco faltered, entirely unprepared, then nodded. “Sure. Tonight?” He wanted to catch Ron equally off guard.

It worked. Ron was about to give an excuse to delay it, when Hermione’s fingers brushed his. He swallowed hard. “Sure,” he agreed. “Room of Requirement, six o’clock,” he said. “Bring Firewhiskey.”

*

“Where are we going?” Harry asked.

“There’s a spot that’s easy to get to, but no one goes there. I jokingly call it my clubhouse.”

“Clubhouse, eh? What’s the password?”

_He’s playful,_ Pansy realized. She liked that, and decided to volley back. “There’s a three month hazing process before you get to know.”

Harry grinned. “I’m a Gryffindor. There’s no initiation too dangerous for us to jump on.”

“And I’m a Slytherin. Our initiations aren’t designed for danger, they’re designed for humiliation.” She led him out the front doors of the castle. 

“Hmm,” Harry said, pretending to consider. “Can the Clubhouse Council be bribed to skip the hazing?” 

“Are you sure you’re a Gryffindor? Because that’s a very Slytherin answer.”

Harry laughed. They walked to the Quidditch pitch and wove through the bleachers towards the commentator’s tower. A long, winding staircase met them at the base of the tower, and the pair climbed to the top in silence. Harry had never been inside the commentator’s booth before. It was a small room, equipped with two chairs and a desk with a large window exposing a 180 degree view of the pitch.

With a deep breath, she looked Harry in the eye and said, “I need to borrow your Invisibility cloak.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Not to be offensive or anything--” Harry started.

“I love responses that start that way.” 

“—but why on earth do you think I’d lend you one of the only things my father passed down to me? It’s not a library book, I don’t just lend it out.”

“I could pay you.”

“I don’t rent it out either!”

“Fine. What do you want?”

Harry looked at her incredulously. “How about we start with you telling me why you want to borrow it?” He watched the joints of her jawbone shift as she grit her teeth, and saw a sheen over her eyes that she managed to choke down.

“Because I can’t be seen,” she said. Her voice was high and studded.

“I figured that much,” Harry teased gently. “Tell me what’s going on. I want to help you, but I can’t just lend my cloak out.”

“I swear it won’t be damaged.”

“That’s not the point.” Harry remained silent, watching her. There was such sadness shining in her eyes. 

“What if I told you you don’t want to know?”

“Now you have to tell me,” Harry said. 

Pansy bit her lip. “I tell you why, and you promise to lend it. Is that the deal?”

“You tell me why, and I promise to consider it.”

“That’s not good enough, Potter!”

“Do you know anyone else in the school who has an Invisibility cloak? Cuz I’m thinking this is your only shot, or we wouldn’t be here.”

She glared at him, and Harry wondered if she was going to storm off. Suddenly she burst out crying. She quickly covered her face with both hands, but the sobs shook her entire body.

“Hey,” Harry stepped towards her and awkwardly patted her back. She leaned into him and cried into his shoulder, hugging him. He felt desperately uncomfortable with Pansy’s full-bodied embrace, but he couldn’t pull away when she was so vulnerable. He hugged her back and hoped it wouldn’t last long. “Whatever it is, you can tell me. I know we don’t really know each other, but I think some part of you knows you can trust me. You wouldn’t bother trying to ask me if you thought I’d backstab you, right?”

“I need that cloak,” Pansy said, fighting through the tears in an effort to stop crying. “For one day.”

“I hear you. But I need to know why.”

“…I need it to prevent any third party from discovering where I need to go, and word getting back to Draco.”

Harry furrowed his brows. “What is it you don’t want him finding out?”

Pansy snorted and released him. “Sorry, Mister Third Party, but I don’t think you heard me.” She pulled a tissue from her pocket and dabbed her eyes.

“It sounds like something big is happening,” Harry said. “Something very painful for you. And I think you need an ally.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“I don’t doubt that. But you shouldn’t have to do it alone.” Harry waited to see if she would contradict his assumption that she wasn’t telling anyone, not just Draco. She was silent. “Why don’t you want to tell Draco?”

She sniffled. Her eyes were heavy with tears but they did not fall. She crossed her arms over her chest. “I have to do this to save him. But he wouldn’t forgive me if he knew.”

“Is he in danger?”

“Yes.”

Harry put his hands on her shoulders. “Then you have to tell me.”

“I can take care of it,” she said, her voice breaking. “I just need the cloak.”

“Tell me, and I swear I won’t tell Draco.”

She studied him. “I want to believe you,” she whispered, eyes large. “Oh, how I want to believe you…”

“You can,” Harry said. “Come here,” he said, gently pulling her shoulders to him. She let him take her into a hug, and after a moment unfolded her arms and hugged him back. “Talk to me. What’s happening?”

She blew out a long breath and reminded herself that this is the man who, in an alternate world, would raise their child despite not being a part of its conception. “Okay,” she whispered. “I’m trusting you.” Her mouth opened and closed again. Inhaling deeply, she quietly blew out the words: “…I’m pregnant.”

Harry felt his limbs go entirely insubstantial. “Wh--” the question stopped before it could form. He pulled back, needing to see the truth in her eyes. “You mean--”

“With Draco…as you.”

Automatically his eyes dropped to her stomach. “He’s…I’m…Wait, you want to…?”

Her face shattered. Tears glued her dark lashes together, and her mouth pulled upwards as she keened. Harry didn’t even think, he pulled her to his chest and held her. She sobbed into his shoulder. “I don’t ‘want to’!” she cried. “I had Trelawney read my cards. If the child is born, Draco dies.” She tilted her head up to look at him. “He can’t ever find out. It would break his heart, he’d never forgive me.” She ducked back into his shoulder, watching through blurry vision as her tears expanded across the crimson of his robe. “I need the cloak to enter the—the clinic. Do you know how many people circle it on the off chance a pure blood shows up? Scumbags looking to blackmail, journalists wanting a story. It’s disgusting. I can’t be seen, I can’t!”

“Slow down,” Harry said. “Divination isn’t law. If it’s not prophecy, it can be worked around.”

“You don’t understand,” Pansy said. “She didn’t look at one possible avenue, she looked at any with a reasonable likelihood of occurring.” She released a shuddering breath. Harry rubbed her back, his thoughts racing. 

Pansy sighed deeply. She felt compelled to share the full pain of it all, now that he knew. “We have a daughter.” Harry closed his eyes and let those words sink in. “We,” she clarified, “Meaning the three of us. Egg and seed create a shell, but soul creates life. This child is created from all three of us.”

Harry felt everything in him come to a grinding halt. The Switch allowed him and Draco to co-father the creation of a child. He could have children with the man he loved.

“The cards say if she is born, Death Eaters will discover her as yours, mine, and his.” Silent tears burned down her face. “They will take her. Depending on which future wins out, I may die, or I may be tortured. Or both. She will be harmed, but she survives – and apparently…” she sniffled and looked up at Harry. “…You raise her.” He looked at her like _of course_ , and this surprised her again. She tried to keep her voice strong. “And across every possible scenario: Draco is killed for having protected you.”

Harry closed his eyes and Pansy put a hand to his cheek. His eyes flew open, startled at the touch. “Professor Trelawney said his only chance at surviving the war is if she isn’t born.”

“But Pansy,” Harry said, taking her hand from his cheek and holding it instead. “She’s a fraud! She made one true prophecy, and now she’s a sad alcoholic hiding in the rafters of the school!”

Pansy shook her head. “She’s the real thing. She fakes being a failure to keep from being assassinated.” 

Harry’s heart fell. “There must be something…”

Lip trembling, Pansy whispered, “There’s not.”

Harry held her tighter and she rested her head against his shoulder. After a moment of silence, Pansy murmured, “I named her.” 

Harry felt a deep ache in his chest. “Yeah?”

She heard the knot in his voice and it brought tears to her eyes. “Her name is Violet. The women in her family are all flowers – Pansy, Narcissa, Lily. Even if I never get to see my child, she’s still family. She’s still a flower.”

“You included my…?” Harry’s voice gave out as he felt tears streak his face.

“Of course,” Pansy said. “You’re family now.”

They stood in silence for a long time. Harry hugged Pansy tightly to him. He thought about family, how his dad heralded Sirius into their family, and now Pansy included him as part of hers. What it all meant…

Something prickled at Harry’s memory. His eyebrows drew together in concentration. _What triggered that feeling? Family, death, Sirius_ – Harry gasped as an idea burst fully formed in his mind. “The Bell Jar,” he whispered.

“What?”

He gripped Pansy’s arms excitedly and pulled her back to look at him. “What if she’s not born until after the war’s over?” Harry said quickly. 

“What do you mean?”

“The Department of Mysteries – there’s a room devoted to the study of Time. Timeturners, strange clocks – and a Bell Jar. Rabastan’s head was caught in it and he kept cycling from infancy to old age. Before that, the Bell Jar held a hummingbird’s egg, and the life cycle went _back into the egg._ ” His excitement grew as he explained, “Don’t you see? If we can – somehow – put the embryo into the Bell Jar, and hit ‘pause’…”

“We’d create a new timeline for her,” Pansy whispered. 

“And we hit un-pause when the war is over, and take her out of the Bell Jar when she’s –you know—a fully baked cookie!” Harry grinned. 

“Don’t do this to me Harry,” Pansy said. “Don’t give me hope if this isn’t something we can do.”

“Pansy. We can do this.”

She trembled in his arms. “You need to know something,” she said. “She won’t be able to speak. Trelawney said being conceived while all three of her parents were cursed with the Hogwarts Secret means she’ll only have a voice during her years at Hogwarts.”

Harry shook his head. “Do you think something like that would change my mind about helping you? About saving her?” 

“I don’t know,” she murmured. “I just didn’t want you doing this thinking everything was going to be perfect.”

“Everything will be perfect,” Harry said. “We’ll figure out what our perfect needs and make it work.”

She smiled and wiped her tears. 

“But Pansy,” Harry warned, “We have to tell Draco.”

“No,” she said quickly. Her eyes were large with fear. “Please…if anything goes wrong, if we have to lose her…I can’t bear to have him hate me for it.”

Harry knew that Gryffindor arguments like _He deserves to know_ wouldn’t reach her. “I’ll make you a deal,” he said. “We don’t tell him until we have the Bell Jar.”

Pansy searched his eyes pleadingly. “But what if we can’t find a way to transport her into it?”

“That’s why we need all hands on deck,” Harry said. “He’s brilliantly inventive. He might be the one to figure it out.”

Pansy looked away, thinking through his words. “Alright,” she agreed softly. She looked up at him. “When we have the Bell Jar. We tell him together.”

*

Their time in the clubhouse had taken the full lunch hour, and Harry was running to the Dynamics room to arrive on time. He threw the door open, out of breath, and was grateful to see Remus hadn’t arrived yet.

“Nine minutes, 46 seconds,” Draco smirked. Harry closed the door and walked to him, a new wonder in his eyes as he thought: _we’re parents._ Harry grinned, wishing he could celebrate, and kissed Draco within an inch of his life.

*

It wasn’t until the end of their last class that Harry remembered the envelopes in his inner cloak pocket. When Remus left, Harry smiled at Draco and said, “I have something for you.”

“Is it something I should kill the lights for?”

Harry laughed and took out one envelope. “Not this time.” He passed it to Draco, who opened it right away.

“Damn. Your stalker does good work,” he said, enjoying the photo. 

“It’s a great shot,” Harry agreed shyly. 

Draco lowered the envelope and kissed him. 

*

Six O’Clock outside the Room of Requirement. Greg stayed with Draco as they waited for Ron to show up, and noticed his friend was more impatient than usual. “Do you think he’s had any official training?” Greg asked.

Draco scoffed. “Of course not, he’s from a family of paupers.”

“But if Weasley really beat Professor McGonagall’s game, and she’s ranked among Europe’s chess champions--”

“You don’t have your mother knit half your wardrobe and then spend hundreds of Galleons on chess tutelage.”

“I suppose. But still…he’s impressively skilled. It can’t come from nowhere.”

Ron approached the Room of Requirement and was disappointed to see that Malfoy showed up after all. A part of him had hoped to arrive, wait five minutes, and leave with the moral high-ground firmly under his feet. He nodded nervously in greeting. 

Greg nudged Draco. “I’ll be back in an hour, then I’ll just chill out here till you’re ready.”

“Thanks,” Draco said, watching as his friend left. He turned back to face Ron and noticed he carried a chess board. Draco shook his head and thought, _This is the Room of Requirement, you don’t need to bring the damn game. Idiot._ He forced a smile and tried to swallow his distaste.

“Let’s do this,” Ron said. They paced the wall, Ron purposely striding long and fast to stay ahead. When the door finally appeared both boys reached for the handle. Draco felt a rush of annoyance and had to sternly remind himself that it didn’t matter who opened the bloody door. He let Ron open it.

Ron could practically hear his mother yelling that gentlemen hold the door for others. He awkwardly propped the door open with an extended arm and muttered, “Go.”

Draco raised his eyebrows at Ron’s monosyllabic aping of etiquette. “Only Harry opens my doors,” he declined, his voice sugared with judgement.

Ron rolled his eyes and went through, and Draco followed.

The humidity felt like a sponge in their lungs. They were in a rainforest, sunlight dappling through the leaves, and a simple table and chair set looking terribly out of place in the centre. The heat made both boys immediately remove their House robes and ties, then roll up their sleeves. Draco walked to the table, leaves and branches cracking underfoot, and took a seat. The air cooled by several degrees as soon as he was seated. Ron sat across from him. “Ahh,” he said as the cool air hit. “That’s better. Why the heat?!”

“The Room knows we’re struggling to get along. It made us remove the marks of rival Houses.”

“Our clothes aren’t going to make this any easier.”

“We need to start seeing each other differently. May as well start by not getting hung up on House division.” 

“I don’t ‘need’ to see you differently,” Ron argued. “I’m here to find out if there’s anything to see differently!”

“Fine. I need to see you differently.” Draco said. “My parents made sure I knew what families were--” _blood traitors_ “—sympathetic to muggles before I came to Hogwarts, and the Weasleys were the top of the list. I was geared to hate you before I even saw you. But if I’m adjusting my view on muggles, then I have to change how I see you too.” 

Ron leaned back in his chair. “You’re adjusting your view on muggles,” he repeated skeptically. 

“I’m working on it.”

“Or that’s just lip service so you can keep Harry.”

Draco felt disproportionately angry at the accusation. He had been working so hard to fully accept magic’s symbiotic relationship with muggles and everything that entails. How dare Ron dismiss it so quickly! He clamped down on his anger and tried his best to answer evenly. 

“Magic flows by bloodline and by spontaneous ignition in muggles, which means it needs muggles. Muggles give something to magic that we don’t understand yet. They have something that purebloods don’t, something valuable for the existence of magic. So valuable that magic literally bounds away from our bloodlines to reach it.”

“I never thought of it that way,” Ron said, thinking how his dad would love to be a part of this conversation.

“Obvious neither had I,” Draco said. “But I’m learning. And I’m trying.”

“Yes, you’re very trying,” Ron couldn’t help muttering.

Draco rolled his eyes. “Oh please. You talk about paying lip service when you only issued this meeting to get brownie points.”

“I don’t need brownie points, I already got what I want. Harry’s my best mate. He won’t stop being friends with me just because you and I can’t get along.”

“You say you don’t need to see me differently, which implies you don’t actually care about the outcome of this. You don’t care if it hurts him that we don’t get along, as long as he doesn’t blame you for it.”

“You’ve never cared about hurting him! You’ve bullied the shit out of him since Year One!”

“Year Two.”

“What!?”

“Year Two. I bullied the shit out of him since Year Two.”

“What are you going off about?”

“Year One I was a little goody two-shoes and tattled on him doing naughty things. I knew he saw me as a bad guy, so I tried to show him he was being hypocritical and that he was wrong about me. When that blew up in my face I started bulling him to get his attention. I embraced the role he saw me in just so he would keep seeing me.”

“So it’s Harry’s fault that you were such a jerk to him all these years?”

“Of course not,” Draco said with a smile. “It’s your fault.”

“My fault?!” Ron yelled, outraged.

“Harry chose you over me when I wanted to be his friend. If you hadn’t been in the picture, things might have been very different. You took him from me.” 

“I didn’t ‘take’ him, you entitled narcissistic shit!”

Entirely unfazed, Draco continued. “I need to see you differently. You say I don’t care about Harry’s feelings, but I do. More than anything. Which means I need to find a way to get along with you.”

“You’re doing splendidly.”

“Do you know he and I met before Hogwarts?”

“What? How?”

“Madam Malkins,” Draco explained. “I’m being fitted for school robes, and this strange boy walks in, alone. He’s wearing muggle clothes that don’t fit him, he moves with coiled precision, and he was the most beautiful boy I’d ever seen.” 

“You thought he was--” Ron struggled with the feminine descriptor of his best friend. “—‘beautiful’—even though you could tell he was raised among muggles?”

“They dressed him with their clothes and their culture but neither fit him.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“An eleven year old boy, alone, clearly his first time in Diagon Alley. If the muggle world had embraced him, he would have had someone with him. He wouldn’t have been wearing elephantine clothing, and he wouldn’t be making due with broken glasses. No…as easy as it was to see he’d been brought up muggle, you could see that that world had no place for him. And his eyes were piercingly independent – something in him rejected it just as forcefully. I wanted to know more.”

“So you started bossing him around on the train and telling him not to be friends with me?”

“No, first I made a complete ass of myself in the shop,” Draco admitted with a grin. “My father always says if you want to bring someone to your side, give them what they need. I figured he needed information, so I launched into a lecture on all sorts of things, trying to sound like I knew it all. I desperately wanted to impress him; he was repulsed.”

Ron hadn’t expected such transparency from Malfoy.

“Do you have any idea how much you mean to him?” Draco asked. “You’re the most important person in his life. Which makes me insanely jealous, and has ever since Year One.” Ron was too stunned to say anything. Malfoy? Jealous of him? “So if I plan on sticking around, _which I do_ , then it’s in my best interest to make some sort of peace with you.” Draco took out the Firewhiskey and a corkscrew. “You should set your board while I do this,” he suggested as he twisted the tool into the stopper.

Ron wondered if what Malfoy said was genuine or rehearsed. He wondered if Harry had a reason for not mentioning his prior encounter with Malfoy…

This meeting had barely begun and it already gave him a lot to consider. 

Ron opened the slot in the board that contained the game pieces and began pulling them out. Bringing this board was a trap to see if Malfoy would sneer or tease him over class status. “This set has been in my family for generations. My great-great-grandfather carved the pieces by hand, so they’re not as uniform as what you’d find in a store.”

Draco looked up at him. “Family heirlooms are better than anything sold new.” The Room conjured two glasses and he poured.

Ron would have to let that response marinate before determining how he felt about it. Was it snotty pure-blood superiority, or was it reassuring and kind? “Black or white?” he asked Draco, confident he’d pick white so he could have the first move advantage.

“Black,” Draco said.

Ron wondered if Draco only said that because he thought he was so good he didn’t _need_ the first move advantage. Or was he legitimately trying to be polite?

Ron picked up his glass and raised it. “To Harry.”

Draco smiled and clinked his glass against Ron’s. “To Harry,” he repeated. Both boys downed their drinks. Draco took the bottle and refilled them both.

The first few moves were played swiftly. As they got deeper into the game, Draco was intrigued to see Ron adopt strategies from a variety of sources and make them fit cohesively. It kept Draco constantly on his toes.

Watching Draco closely, Ron said, “I have some questions for you.”

“Oh?” Draco said. He instructed a bishop to move.

Ron quickly fired a counter move. “Being raised in the muggle world means some of that world is still important to Harry. Would you go on a muggle date?”

Draco crinkled his nose in distaste. “I don’t know what that would entail…” he tried to imagine. “Do muggles have concerts?”

“They have music, so I suppose they must.”

“If it’s a crowd-featured event like a concert—where we’d be surrounded by hundreds of muggles—then no. If it’s a muggle activity we can do alone, then yes.”

“Even if it’s in the muggle world?”

“If it was important to him, then yes.” Draco ordered his Knight forward and decided to try to learn about Ron. He asked, “Who in your immediate family are you closest to?”

Ron rose an eyebrow at him, preparing for any insult over the size of his family. “Well,” he said, thinking it over. “Ginny, for sure, and Charlie. And I suppose my mum, but she can get pretty fierce sometimes. Dad’s not always around, he’s working overtime with the Ministry or tinkering with muggle stuff. I don’t get the fascination.”

Draco carefully didn’t comment. Ron was surprised he didn’t take the bait. Gameplay resumed, and it was a while before Ron struck out again.

“Another question for you. Would you take the Dark Mark--”

“No.”

“—I’m not done,” Ron said, a devilish smile. “Would you take the Dark Mark, if your father asked you to?”

Draco sucked in a breath at the question. “He wouldn’t--”

“The question isn’t whether or not he would, it’s what you would do IF.”

Draco picked up his glass and took a long drink, stalling as he considered. He set the glass down gently. “Family means everything to me,” he said. “But allegiance to the Dark Lord threatens magic itself. He wants to eradicate muggles, and if he does that then he destroys magic’s outlet to spontaneously create itself within muggleborns. If he succeeds, he will ultimately cripple magic. Left crippled, it may not survive.” He shook his head. “The world can’t lose magic. You-Know-Who is psychotic, he seeks war for the sake of personal power without considering the costs. He tortured my father and nearly chose to have him killed. I’ll never support him.” 

“Even if your father asked you?”

Draco shook his head. “The only reason I can come up with for father asking me would be if You-Know-Who were insisting. Which means father was trying to save my life by convincing me before I could refuse the Dark Lord directly.” He instructed a piece to move and then smiled at Ron. “So really, you’re asking if I would die before I’d betray Harry.”

“And how would you answer?”

“I will never take the Dark Mark.”

Ron felt his second-guessing start to unravel as he realized he believed him.

The match continued for a long time, until both players were left with almost no pieces. Neither of them had ever concentrated so hard, or enjoyed a game as much, as they had with this one. In the end, Ron took victory.

“Well played,” Draco said as Ron was putting the pieces away. 

“Thanks,” Ron said. With a smug smile he added, “I’m having trouble deciding if I want a rematch, since this was the best fun I’ve had with chess since Charlie, or if it’s better to never play you again and keep my glorious record intact. As of tonight, I’ve beat you in 100% of our games.”

“You’ll be back. One game against Harry and you’ll be begging for a skilled opponent.”

Ron laughed. “Yeah. I tried teaching him, I really did. It was painful.”

As they stood from the table, the Room vanished the forest and returned the temperatures to normal. They put their robes and ties back on, rehashing the best game points. When they exited, their smiles slowly faded in the confrontation of the dim, empty hall.

“…Wasn’t Goyle gonna be here?” Ron asked.

“Yeah,” Draco said, drawing his wand. Ron followed suit. “He should have been waiting.”

Noticing a small square piece of parchment adhered to the opposite wall, Ron said, “Maybe he left a note?” He approached it.

“Don’t touch it,” Draco said quickly, thinking of Blaise’s letter.

Ron read it as Draco walked up. _Hello sweetheart_ was all it said, and was written in gold ink. “Definitely not Goyle,” Ron said. Draco looked at it, and as he read it the words turned to smoke hovering above the page. The words floated up and seeped into Draco’s eyes, a trace of gold shining bright around the emerald iris. Ron noticed Draco relax, saw him smile widely and pick up the note. 

“I have to go now,” Draco said in a gentle, lilting way that reminded him of Luna.

“Where?” Ron asked.

Draco beamed at him. “I don’t know,” he said happily. “But I’ll know when I get there!”

“Malfoy,” Ron said, grabbing his arm. “You’ve been hexed.”

“I have to go now,” he whispered kindly, almost an apology.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“That’s okay,” Draco chirped. “You don’t have to come!” He pulled his arm back and began walking.

“Bloody hell,” Ron muttered, quickly catching up to him. “I have an idea. Let’s swing by Madam Pomfrey’s on the way to where ever we’re going.”

“I can’t.”

“Sure you can, we won’t be long.” Ron took him by the upper arm and tried to steer him towards the staircase. Draco cried out in pain and doubled over, clutching his stomach. Ron let him go. “What happened?”

“That’s the wrong way,” Draco gasped, quickly backing up and resuming course. He straightened up and it appeared that the pain left as soon as he allowed himself to be herded. Ron reached into his pocket and pressed both buttons for Harry and Hermione, and continued to follow Draco.

*

Harry and Hermione were sitting together in the Gryffindor common room, trying to refrain from obsessing over whether or not their boyfriends had killed each other yet, when both their buttons grew hot. Without a word, they raced upstairs into Harry’s room for the map and the cloak and tore out of the tower.

Using the map to find them, Harry and Hermione caught up to the boys by the time they were nearly at the Slytherin dorm entrance. “What’s going on?” Hermione asked quickly. 

“He’s hexed,” Ron said. “There was a note, and the words came off the page and took him. He’s compelled to go where it wants him to, and it hurts him if I try to get him to go off track.”

“ _Finite_ ,” Hermione cast. 

“Yeah, I tried that.”

“ _Reditum!_ ”

“That too.”

Hermione pursed her lips, her thoughts galloping hard. 

“Hurry,” Harry pleaded. The Slytherin entrance was only steps away.

“ _Tu Vincula Frange!_ ” 

Draco paused and put a hand to his head, swaying on his feet. Harry walked in front of him and cupped the back of his neck. “Are you okay?”

Draco dropped his hand and looked up at Harry with wide eyes. “He was actually going to do it.” He shook his head. “He…”

“After everything, did you think he wasn’t capable?”

Draco shivered and said miserably, “Pre-meditated is different…”

Hermione looked between Ron and Draco and asked, “Where’s the note?”

Draco looked up at her. “It’s in my robe pocket. Right side.”

She stepped towards him and reached into his pocket. Draco automatically turned to watch her, and Harry brought his hand from Draco’s neck to his cheek and gently turned his face away. “Don’t look.” 

Hermione pulled out a piece of parchment, with faded lettering as if written in pencil and erased— _Hello Sweetheart._ A quick flick of her wand and the parchment was gone.

“I have to find Greg,” Draco said. “He was supposed to meet me. If Blaise hurt him…”

Harry pulled out the Map and unfolded it. Draco quickly found his friend’s name and tapped it. “He’s in my room.”

“And look here,” Harry said, tapping Blaise’s name nearby.

Draco felt his heart speed up in fear. “It’s fine, he’s in his room. He’ll expect me to go to him, so he has no reason to leave.”

“I’m going with you.”

“Don’t be stupid.” 

Harry unrolled the cloak tucked under his arm and disappeared within the fabric. 

“…Good job.”

“When you come back, we want an explanation,” Ron said.

Draco’s gut clenched, but he nodded. He owed Ron.

Trusting Harry to follow close, Draco moved to the front of the Slytherin entrance and gave the password. They walked through the short corridor and into the common room. Three younger girls were practicing their harmonies for the Toad Choir, several boys had taken over a patch of floor and were drawing conjuring circles in chalk on the ground, and many more students were doing homework or gossiping. He wove through the common room with extreme self-restraint, wanting to sprint to his room and forcing himself to remain more naturally paced.

Draco descended the stairs to the boy’s dorms, grateful to speed up now that they had no one watching. Draco rushed to his room and flung the door open.

Greg was collapsed on the floor, unconscious.

As Draco hurried to his side, Harry closed the door and took off his cloak. Draco checked his breathing, checked for any indication of a fight, and noticed there was a glass vial in his hand. Draco picked it up from his friend’s limp fingers and brought it to his nose, smelling it. He smiled in relief. “It’s just a sleeping drought,” he said. “Blaise must have used his Charm to order Greg to tell him everything, then instructed him to dose himself.”

“So he’s okay?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Which one’s his bed?”

Draco pointed. Harry took out his wand and levitated Greg onto the bed. Draco sat next to his friend and removed the boy’s shoes for him, then took the comforter off his own bed and wrapped it over him.

“What are you doing?” Harry asked.

“I’m not staying here tonight, I won’t need it.” Draco took an elegant, Ostridge skin suitcase from his closet and began filling it. “I’m staying in the Room of Requirement until the Ministry comes for Blaise.”

“Good thinking.” Harry watched Draco pack for a moment and admired the Slytherin’s self-preservation. Harry had never been able to extract himself from the Dursleys, never told a teacher the abuse he suffered every single day… and here was Draco, entirely unwilling to remain at risk. Harry was humbled by his strength.

Adding a few books to his suitcase, Draco said, “I thought Greg crashing with me would be enough. With a witness constantly present, Blaise would have to either back down or use his Charm. He’s always kept that ability private. I really didn’t think he’d use it on Greg.” He closed the lid and slid the latches shut. “He’s getting bold.”

“So having a constant chaperone isn’t enough anymore…”

“No,” Draco sighed. “Would you mind?” He handed the suitcase to Harry. “I’ll get interrogated if my House sees me packed and leaving.”

“Sure thing,” Harry said, taking the bag. 

“I’m just gonna write Greg a note so he doesn’t panic in the morning. Then we’re good to go.” Draco took a square sheet of parchment and wrote: _Greg, I’m safe. I’ll meet you at breakfast. Always, Your Friend, DM._ He folded it quickly into a rabbit and set it on top of Greg’s chest, its tiny paper nose twerking. It hopped twice and then settled comfortably down.

Harry took Draco’s hand. “He’s okay. You’re okay.”

_It could have been so much worse…_ Draco took a deep breath. “Thank you for coming with me.”

“Of course,” Harry squeezed his hand and let go.

“Wait,” Draco said, taking his hand back and pulling him close. Draco kissed him, slow and gentle. He smiled and whispered, “I’ve always wanted to do that here.”

Harry smiled. “Always?”

Draco blushed. “Don’t read into it, angel-prat. Let’s go.”

Harry donned his Cloak and made sure the suitcase was fully concealed. Draco felt his nerves give static shocks as he edged the door open, afraid to see Blaise walking the hallway from an ill-timed trip to the loo. The hall was blissfully empty. Draco stepped out and waited for Harry to follow, then quietly closed the door and hurried up the stairs. 

He slowed his pace when entering the common room, remembering to act natural. He spotted Pansy reading by the fireplace and detoured to her side.

“I need you to come with me,” he said.

She put a red ribbon to mark her place and stood up. “This had better be important,” she teased, leaning in to kiss him. “I was at a really, _really_ good part.”

He smiled at her. “I know better than to interrupt your Citadel Mysteries unless it’s urgent.”

“Good boy, I’ve trained you well.” She felt her heart speed up, wondering what was going on. She didn’t think Harry would betray her, but what was so ‘urgent’?

They walked through the short hall leading to the exit. The stones rearranged themselves for the students to leave, and as she stepped through Pansy was surprised to see Ron and Hermione loitering outside. 

Before she could say anything, she heard something behind her. She turned around and saw Harry with a suitcase. “What is going on?”

“Not here,” Draco reminded her. They walked together to the nearest classroom and went inside.

The group loosely assembled themselves to stand in a circle. Hermione was surprised to see Pansy, but was pleased for an excuse to see her in private. She keenly remembered what Harry said about their compatibility, and she yearned for a female best friend. “Hi,” she said with a warm smile to the girl.

Pansy smiled coolly back and turned to face Draco. Hermione felt her stomach plummet and hoped no one could tell how embarrassed she was. 

“Alright,” Draco said to collect their attention. “I’ve been undergoing a personal conflict that has escalated to a point where information needs to be shared.” He paused and looked to Harry uncertainly. “Do they know--?” He stopped himself, realizing how ridiculous it was to ask Harry when the couple in question were right in front of him. He looked back at Ron and Hermione. “Blaise and I used to date,” he explained.

“Right,” Hermione said. 

“Right,” Draco echoed. He glanced nervously at Pansy. Her gaze was cold and fierce. “I’m sorry that I’m telling you in a group setting,” he said. “I have to tell them, and it was dangerous for me to linger in-House. But I need you to know what’s going on.” He was grateful to see a little warmth returning to her eyes.

He glanced back at Ron and Hermione. “I don’t know how to say it, so I’m just going to say it.” He looked at Harry for strength, and then faced the group again. “Blaise is half Incubus.”

The colour immediately drained from Pansy’s face. 

Ron balled his hands into fists. “How the hell is something like that in our school?!”

Hermione turned to Ron in surprise. “You’ve read ahead for Defense class?”

“’Course not,” he said. “Succubi and Incubi are like sex gods, Fred and George told me about them ages ago.” 

Hermione turned to Draco apologetically. “I only know the passage from the textbook, and it doesn’t explain how halflings work.”

“Halflings inherit the power of their demon parent, but have greater restrictions,” he began, his rattled nerves relieved to recite rote information and delay the details of what he had to tell them. “Halfbloods inherit the human appetite for sexuality, which allows them to live a mostly human lifestyle.”

“Instead of needing sex like food,” Ron said. 

“He’s kept you Charmed since the start, hasn’t he?” asked Pansy, her arms wrapped around herself in the hug she wished she could give Draco. 

Thrown off balance, her question struck him much harder. “Yes,” he said softly.

“Since the start of what?” Hermione asked. Draco wasn’t sure how to answer her naiveté. 

“Draco wasn’t interested in him,” Pansy explained. “Until Blaise asked him out.”

Hermione was stunned. “You mean he’s kept you under his control the whole time you dated?” The idea that someone would do that made her sick. It was as bad as Imperius.

“It wasn’t—he never—it’s not—” Draco grit his teeth as he fought the flotsam of Charm stuck in his mind compelling him to defend Blaise. Harry watched him struggle, worried, not knowing how to help. Draco shook his head. “Yes, he did. And it’s still there,” he admitted. “He never stopped. But the Switch saved me. Harry’s magic is immune to will-manipulation spells.” He looked at the floor. “But Charm cast from before the Switch is deep in my mind, and it’s hard to shake.”

“ _Why didn’t you tell me sooner?_ ” 

Draco looked at Pansy. “I didn’t understand what was happening to me until…until _after_ , you know…” 

Pansy swept her gaze to Ron and Hermione, then back. “Aren’t you here to explain how dangerous he is?”

Draco’s heart stuttered. “I just told them.”

“You gave us a name, a theory,” she snarled. “How about confiding what he did?”

Harry went to her side and took her by the arm. “We’ll be right back,” he said over his shoulder. Pansy let him escort her out of the classroom. He closed the heavy door and cast _Muffliato_. “What the hell was that?!” He demanded.

She burst into tears. “I don’t know!” she yelled. “I’m just so angry!” 

Harry instantly felt guilty for making her cry. She leaned against him and cried on his shoulder. He hesitated, then awkwardly hugged her. _Slytherins are very touchy-feely,_ he thought to himself. “You and I know why you’re so angry,” he said gently.

“Because Draco’s being a jerk! Something this important, and I’m not the first person he tells?! He just lumps me in with your loser Gryffindor friends?!”

Harry rolled his eyes at her insult and said, “Because you’re pregnant and emotional.” She kept crying but didn’t argue. Harry continued, “You’re not the type of friend to spill his secrets just because you’re mad.”

“I’m not,” she assured him.

“I know,” he said. “Take a deep breath…” He waited until she was trying. “Okay. Listen. That suitcase I was carrying? That’s Draco’s stuff. That’s how not-safe it is for him in Slytherin. But he needed to find you and get you, because he really wants you to know what’s going on. Can that be enough for now?”

“He should have told me sooner.”

“I know. But can that be enough for now?”

She sniffled. 

While Harry was talking to Pansy, Draco was left with Ron and Hermione. 

“She’s got a point,” Ron said. “Whatever Zambini did, we need to know what to expect from him.”

Draco wanted to hit Ron. “What he did is past, we just need to worry about his current threats and how to avoid him for two days.”

“What’s in two days?” Hermione asked.

“The Ministry comes for him,” Draco said, looking her directly in the eye, “And snaps his wand.”

She flinched, but nodded. She didn’t like the idea of any wizard losing their wand, but for him to keep Draco under something akin to Imperius for so long… “How long were you and Blaise dating?”

Draco swallowed hard. “Four months.”

“May I ask you something personal?” 

Draco nodded stiffly.

“What was it like? Being Charmed? They say Imperius is like a trance, is it like that?”

“No,” Draco said softly, thinking. “It’s far more subtle. I was still me, I still had my own thoughts and actions. But if I was directed to do something, I’d feel it was important and I would want to go do it. That’s the difference; the Charm makes you want to obey, makes it feel like the desire comes from yourself.” He paused. “Even your thoughts… Imperius can’t change how you think. But the Charm can make you believe anything. He can say, ‘You like this’, and you do, you like it and want it—even if moments ago it sickened you…” He looked away. “And you don’t even question the discrepancy.”

The door opened and Pansy and Harry walked back in. Draco bristled, angry at Pansy’s outburst—then he saw her face and realized she had been crying. He glared at Harry. “What did you say to her?!”

“He’s fine,” Pansy said to Draco, drawing her arms around his neck in a hug. He held her close. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Draco melted and kissed her cheek. “It’s okay,” he said. Harry smiled at them.

Ron shook his head. “If Zambini is this powerful, we should alert Dumbledore.”

“No,” Draco and Harry said at once. Pansy took a step back to give Draco a quizzical look. 

“I’m with Weasley on this,” Pansy said. “Blaise is dangerous. Get the Headmaster to expel him.”

“We got something better lined up,” Draco said. “A report’s been sent to the Ministry. They should come in the next day or two, haul him away for halfling registration. He’ll never be allowed to own a wand again.”

Pansy whistled. “Wow,” she said softly. “I mean, that’s good. Just…wow.”

“Here’s what you need to know,” Draco said. “Blaise wants to get back together with me. Being what he is, he’s never had to accept ‘no’ from anyone, and he’s not dealing with it well. This morning, he threatened that if I don’t come back to him, he’d either use his Charm on Harry to have access to my body, or he’d attack me.”

“I’m going to kill him,” Pansy growled.

“There’s more,” Draco said. “He tried to follow through on it. He Charmed Greg into disclosing where I was, and left a trap meant to hex me into going to him. Granger and Weasley saved me.” 

Pansy turned to Hermione. “Do you know any good books on necromancy?”

“Oh—um, well, I haven’t looked extensively, but I did pick up a copy of Mother Marrow--”

“Because I’m going to have to kill him, raise him from the dead, and kill him again.”

“I want in on this plan,” Harry teased.

“He belongs to the Ministry,” Draco said. “All we have to do is avoid him for two days.”

“What’s the best way to do that?” Hermione asked. “You’re in the same House as him.”

“I’m staying in the Room of Requirement.”

“But won’t he look for you there?”

“He doesn’t know about it,” Draco said. “Greg must have told him we were meeting by the ballet trolls painting. If Greg had revealed the Room, there’s no way Blaise would have just left a hexed note. He would have walked in, Charmed Weasley to leave, and used the Room to boost his own power. The Room of Requirement is based on desire—a half-incubus could control it beyond the telling.” He shook his head. “No…Blaise doesn’t know it exists. It’s perfect.”

“I’d hardly say ‘perfect’,” Pansy griped. “Slytherins will notice their Prince is missing.”

“Do you have a better idea?”

“No,” she admitted.

“Then you, Vince, and Greg will just have to cover for me.” And Astoria, he thought to himself. He couldn’t confide his reasons to her of course, but he believed she would help him. “I’ll still make appearances at mealtimes in the Great Hall. It’s not like I’ll be entirely off the grid.” She frowned, knowing that wouldn’t be enough, wondering how she could help him cover. “As for Harry,” Draco continued, turning to the boy. “We talked earlier about you not walking alone, keeping a witness around you to deter Blaise. But if he’s willing to use his Charm on anyone, then we need to adjust the plan. Make sure you’re with Granger when you’re not with me. Blaise isn’t attracted to women, so he can’t Charm her.”

“Just for a day, maybe two,” Harry reiterated, deeply uncomfortable at being a burden.

Draco smiled at him then turned to Ron. "Weasley, if you see Blaise has somehow gotten to Harry, do not confront them. Run and get one of the girls. If you go in there, he’ll just Charm you into not telling anyone—or worse, he’ll Charm you into helping him.”

Ron grimaced. “Yeah, alright,” he said. 

Draco scanned the group. “That’s everything. Questions?” When nobody said anything, Draco said, “Okay, class dismissed!”

Harry picked up the suitcase. 

“What are you doing?” Draco asked.

“I’m carrying this to the Room of Requirement for you.”

“You most certainly are not!” Draco reached for the handle but Harry held it back. Draco huffed. “It’s been ten seconds since you agreed to have Granger escort you and you’re already looking to break the rules! Walking with me to the Room means you’ll be walking alone to Gryffindor, you prat!”

“Or it means I’m staying overnight with you.”

Draco froze as Harry’s words crystalized in his mind; and then Draco smiled like spring upon the snow. “You’d want to stay with me?”

“Aaaaand we’releavingnowbye.” Ron took Hermione’s hand and began walking to the door. 

Hermione laughed. Keeping his hand, she looked back at the boys and called, “Harry, use your button if you need anything!”

“Will do,” he said with a smile.

Pansy gave Draco a tight hug. “See you in the morning,” she said.

“Till then,” he said, pressing a kiss to her cheek. 

The walk to the Room of Requirement was long as the boys had to hunt down seven flights of cooperative staircases. As they went, Harry began fielding questions about Pansy.

“You’re not jealous, are you?” Draco asked.

“No,” Harry answered honestly. “I’d just like to learn more about her. And…” he paused.

“And?” 

“…and I think she could be a good friend for Hermione.”

Draco smiled. “The thought remains a scary one.”

“Seriously, do you think she’d give it a shot? What’s her stance on blood purity and muggles?”

“The only time she cares about blood purity is if the person is a squib,” Draco said. “Squibs born to muggles ought to be left in that world, squibs born to wizards should be accepted among us. She hates blood crossings—wizarding-family squibs being abandoned to muggles, muggleborn squibs being treated like pets and brought into our world.”

Harry had never given thought to squibs before. “And muggles?”

Draco shrugged. “She’s more disgusted by muggles than overly-political about what they’ve done to us,” he said. “She thinks they’re dirty and mad.”

“Could you talk to her?”

Draco laughed. “I’m not sure I’m the best person to try to make her see otherwise,” he said. “I’ll try to convince her they serve a purpose. But don’t go expecting miracles.”

As they crossed the threshold to the Room of Requirement, Harry looked at Draco –

\--and saw _Draco._

The suitcase fell with a loud bang, and Draco turned quickly to look at him. His jaw dropped as he saw Harry staring back, messy dark hair and emerald eyes.

Not able to look away, Harry gently took a step back, reaching behind him for the door, and stepped out of the Room. The illusion broke, and Harry looked like Draco again. He stepped forward into the Room, and was instantly disguised in his true body. The Room even altered their heights to reflect their shapes accurately; it recognized that their deepest need while together was to be in their own bodies. 

Harry started to open his mouth to speak, but Draco stepped forward and put a finger to his lips, unknowing if the Room could alter their voices appropriately. Harry was shocked at the touch, to see Draco reach for him. It made everything so much more real than before.

Harry reached up and gently took the hand touching his lips and held it as he kissed Draco’s fingertips. Harry felt the tide within him cresting as he watched the phases of the moon rush through silver eyes. He took Draco’s long index finger in his mouth, gave a few slow, sharp sucks before dragging him out, letting his teeth graze its length.

Draco’s breathing sped up. He was mesmerized at the sight of Harry and his wicked mouth and playful eyes. As soon as his finger was free he turned his wrist to grip Harry’s hand, holding on like a man lost at sea. Draco kissed him the way moonlight glitters on the ocean, beautiful and rough and with abandon.

Harry wrapped his other hand around Draco’s waist and brought their bodies together. His breath fled when he felt Draco’s cock growing against him. His hand ran up Draco’s back, under his shirt; Quidditch muscles hard under soft, perfect skin. Draco released his hand and loosed the Gryffindor tie, sliding the knot undone and letting the silk fall. Harry drew his hand down, his other hand snaking around to join, and squeezed Draco’s ass as his tongue pushed past his lips. Draco stifled a moan. Fabric rustled as Draco unbuttoned Harry’s shirt and pulled it down his shoulders. He caressed Harry’s back and felt something raised. It was an odd shape, and he traced the area in curiosity; Harry tensed.

Draco gently broke the kiss and brought one hand to Harry’s shoulder to turn him. Harry jerked back, eyes anxious. Draco simply stared at him, eyebrows slightly raised, and waited. Harry realized that if Draco wanted to see, he could return to the Room alone and have a few mirrors conjured. He felt his stomach knot. He slowly turned and focused on keeping his breath even, trying to push back the memories.

Draco saw the raised scar that originally caught his attention; there were three like it, all similarly curved and long. Looking closer, he realized much of Harry’s back was covered in flat, faint scars, one was very clearly the shape of a belt buckle. His fingertips brushed the spot and Harry flinched. _Muggles did this,_ Draco thought, fear and fury beating wings inside him. He kissed the scar, and laid kisses to each of the raised scars before wrapping an arm protectively around Harry’s chest and pressing himself against his back. 

Harry let one hand cover Draco’s and closed his eyes. It was one thing to tell Draco he was hit—it was another to show the severity. Harry arched his head back to kiss Draco, vulnerability translating to need and stretching taunt through every nerve. Draco stroked down Harry’s chest, and he brought his other hand to meet the first at Harry’s waistband. He drew the zip down and pushed his trousers off his hips, turning Harry to face him. 

Harry flushed, realizing he was very nearly naked and Draco had somehow retained all his clothing. Draco grinned, swept his leg behind Harry’s, and pushed him. 

Shock and adrenaline ripped through the Gryffindor – and he landed with a bounce on the newly conjured bed. The laugh leaked, and Draco pounced on top of him and kissed him before either of them could decide if the laugh sounded like Harry or not. They were desperate not to break the spell of belief.

Draco straddled him, his knees pressed against Harry’s thighs. He lowered himself down, nearly laying on Harry, to kiss his jawline, lick across his Adam’s apple, suck along his neck. Harry’s fingers fumbled as he tried to work the buttons on Draco’s shirt in the confined space between their bodies. Draco felt a chill as his clothes disappeared all at once, and he bit Harry’s shoulder for cheating and getting the Room to do his dirty work. Harry thrust his hips into him at the delicious pain that rippled straight to his cock. Draco was surprised at how much Harry liked that, and bit him again – this time slowly increasing the pressure, gauging Harry’s reactions. Harder bites left Harry writhing against him and arching his back. Draco grinned – oh, he was going to have _so much fun_ with that…

With a hard twist, Harry pinned Draco to the bed. He pressed a kiss to Draco’s mouth, infused with the absolute need he felt towering within. Draco wrapped his legs around Harry’s hips and pulled him to meet his body. The thin fabric of Harry’s boxer shorts created heated friction as their cocks rubbed against each other. Harry pumped his hips against him, driving his cock to stroke long against Draco, the weight and warmth of the boy’s legs around him anchoring him through dizzying desires…

The simulation of sex triggered Harry, and he heard the growling of his uncle: _Men don’t lie with men_. He jerked up, panic and shame like grit in his blood, the memory of cayenne peppers burning his throat as he struggled and choked—

Draco sat up with him, confused, worried. He opened his mouth to speak but Harry gave a quiet “shh”. Harry took a few deep breaths, his heart wild with fear, and forced the memories to the back of his mind and slammed the door on them. He was here. He was with someone he loved. 

He gave a gentle kiss, an apology. Draco deepened it but kept it slow and tender, and cupped the back of his neck. He hated how much fear Harry had to confront over something as natural and beautiful as touch. 

Draco led Harry to lay side-by-side with him, and they kissed and pet each other until the comforting warmth grew to passionate heat. 

Harry slid his boxers off and Draco gripped his cock and began wanking him. Harry bit his lip trying to hold back a moan, and reached for Draco’s cock to level the playing field. They watched each other’s faces as they came, hearts memorizing the intimacy shining in the other’s eyes.

Draco kissed Harry. The Room cleaned their mess and dimmed the lights as the boys fell asleep in each other’s arms.


	20. Thank You and Goodbye

The smell of grass and the warmth of the sun felt real to Harry as he woke in the Room of Requirement. A hazy smile dewed across his face. His arm tingled under the weight of Draco’s head but he refused to move it. 

“Good morning,” Draco said.

Harry opened his eyes at the sound of Draco’s voice. “Morning,” he said back, grinning. “Guess the Room can do our voices after all.”

“I checked it when you were asleep,” Draco admitted. He kissed Harry long and slow, then said against his mouth, “Can we just stay here until they find the snake and change us back?”

“Yes,” Harry said definitively, which made Draco chuckle. Harry pulled back enough to stare at him. Time felt beautifully dense as he memorized his eyes: the gunmetal grey ring around the outer edge, the spider web skein of frost, mirrors, and crystal across a dove’s wing. 

_I love you,_ he thought, but the words dammed behind his teeth. 

*

“What are you reading?”

Hermione smiled as she glanced up. Pansy had arrived earlier than she anticipated. “Pride and Prejudice.”

“Intriguing title. Muggle, I assume?”

“Yes,” Hermione answered. The two girls were waiting outside the Room of Requirement, waiting for Harry and Draco to realize they hadn’t organized chaperones to get to breakfast. “It’s one of the most popular novels in muggle literature, actually. It’s primarily about a courtship, with themes discussing the importance of reputation and class, the abuse of love for social advancement, and the need to escape one’s own pride and prejudice in the face of love.”

Pansy thought of her pending betrothal and the political ties her parents sought to secure with her potential suitors. “How laughable is this muggle hierarchical society? Do they actually have a system in place or is it like the cave men of old?”

“There’s a lot of similarities to pure-blood class structures,” Hermione said. Pansy snorted in skepticism, but continued to eye the cover with curiosity. Hermione nodded to Pansy’s book. “What about you, what are you reading?”

The Slytherin raised her eyebrows. The title was clearly visible. “Don’t tell me you haven’t heard of the Citadel Mysteries?” 

“Can’t say that I have.”

Pansy stepped toward Hermione and swiftly traded books. “Consider this an education.”

Hermione looked at the book in her hands. It was soft brown leather with gold calligraphy inscribing the title; an hourglass was depicted on the front, the sand emptying and refilling in hypnotic motion. Hermione knew her smile was too big, knew she ought to be playing things cool, but couldn’t help herself. It wasn’t often she met a new book…or made a friend.

A paper crane wriggled out from under the door and flew up to Pansy, and shortly after Hermione felt her button grow hot in her pocket. Both girls delivered a sharp knock, amused to do it in stereo. 

The immediacy startled the boys. They thought they at least had fifteen minutes before one of their friends would show up. Hurriedly they got dressed in their trousers and button-ups, leaving their ties and robes waiting on a standing rod, not wanting to keep their friends waiting longer than necessary. Harry opened the door.

“As usual, we figured things out _long_ before you did,” Pansy purred as she stepped inside. Hermione entered and Harry shut the door behind her. Pansy went to Harry’s side, thinking he was Draco, and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

“You think so, do you?” Harry said, smirking. 

“Considering you only just now panicked and tried to message us, yes.”

“In that case,” Draco said with a sly grin, “It shouldn’t take you too long to figure out what you’re missing.”

Pansy’s eyes narrowed. 

“Missing?” Hermione repeated skeptically. She stepped closer to Draco, whom she thought was Harry. “What do you mean?” 

Draco felt his smile falter as amusement turned to sadness that this buildup was for an illusion. “It’s not real,” he said gently.

“What’s not real?” Hermione asked. 

Draco looked over at Harry. Pansy had taken his hand, and he gave it a squeeze before pulling away. “It’s the Room,” Harry added. He caught Draco’s eye and the two of them walked over to the clothes rod. Harry picked up the Slytherin tie, and Draco took the Gryffindor—and after a mischievous pause, they grinned and tossed each other their correct garment.

“Oh my god!” Hermione squealed. Pansy shrieked and leapt into Draco’s arms, and he spun her and held her close as they laughed. Hermione rushed over to Harry and hugged him, then pulled back and said, “I’ve missed seeing you so _much_.”

“I’ve missed being seen!” Harry quipped. 

“You owe me details,” Pansy whispered to Draco. “There is no way you two walked in here, saw the Room could make you look like yourselves, and shrugged it off to go to sleep.”

“You’re right,” Draco said. “I promise, later I’ll give you uncensored—”

“What are you two talking about?” Harry asked.

“Nothiiing!” The Slytherins chimed with charming smiles.

“Never have I disbelieved anything more,” Harry muttered, grabbing his robes and slipping them on. Draco followed suit. 

“Did you see Blaise this morning?” Draco asked Pansy. 

She grimaced. “Yeah. He’s been tearing apart all of Slytherin looking for you. The Floo Room, the Dungeons, barging into all the boy’s dorms. When I snuck out, he was convinced you’d bypassed the security charms and gotten into the girl’s dorms.”

Hermione frowned. “Those are ancient charms woven into the creation of Hogwarts itself. It would be incredibly difficult to override them…”

“Yet you’re about to think of a way, aren’t you?” Draco teased.

Hermione blushed. “I’m just saying, Blaise must be frenzied to think you could accomplish something like that in a single night.”

“More likely he thinks I’d just use the Switch and not care about chipping away some of Harry’s magic. He refuses to accept that Harry means something to me.”

_Draco Malfoy just admitted, in front of my friend and his, that he cares about me._ Harry felt his chest expand in pride. 

“We should get going,” Pansy reminded them reluctantly. She opened the door and her and Hermione walked through. The boys hesitated at the threshold, and felt the illusion drop as they crossed over. 

Harry looked at Draco, saw the dark messy hair and bold scar, and smiled. “Welcome back to weird.”

Draco sighed, tilting his head to look up at Harry. He gave a playful pout. “I miss being taller than you.”

With a low voice and impish grin, Harry asked, “Wanna be taller than me tonight?”

“Are you inviting yourself back to my room, angel-prat?”

“Are you always this innocent?”

“Me?!” Draco laughed incredulously. 

Hermione giggled. 

Pansy looped her arm through Draco’s. “Do I need to leash and collar you? Let’s go already.” 

Harry’s eyebrows shot up.

“Who’s innocent now?” Draco teased, grinning. “Great idea Pansy. While I’m still in Harry’s body, let’s make it a photoshoot in full leather kink.” 

“ _Hey!_ ” Harry protested. 

As the Slytherins walked away, Draco looked over his shoulder at Harry and added, “In fact, I know a great photographer…!”

“Don’t even joke about it!” Harry watched the two of them leave and shook his head. “I’m gonna kill him,” he muttered with a smile. 

*

The Slytherin table was more secretive than usual, making the other Houses suspicious. No Slytherin voice was raised above a whisper, and none were silent; a fog of words, dense and indeterminable from afar. 

They were speculating on Blaise’s behavior, on where their Prince had gone, and what happened between them. Rumours were tested like gold between teeth, and traded with pinching greed between misers.

Draco and Pansy imperially ignored the stares and whispers as they entered the Great Hall and took their usual seats.

“What happened?” Greg blurted out as his friends sat down. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” Draco dismissed, “You’re the one he got to, are _you_ okay?”

“Yeah, it was weird though,” Greg mused. “He Alohomora’d the door and just asked me where to find you. And suddenly it was like – I dunno, like a combination of wanting to impress my father, and performing an oral exam for a teacher, and hoping I say the right thing in front of a girl. It felt absolutely critical that I give him the best answer possible. I wanted to. That’s the weirdest thing…It wasn’t even a battle of will. I just suddenly wanted to.” 

“So how gay does that make you?” Vince asked.

“I’m not gay,” Greg said, giving some savage side-eye.

“Whatever,” Vince said, “His charm wouldn’t have worked on me.”

“It works on anyone,” Draco grit. “Your desire isn’t important in the equation, his power is to change your desire.”

“Yeah, but if you’re really straight then you shouldn’t be able to feel it.”

“That’s not how it works!” Draco argued.

“He’s right, you know,” Blaise drawled, amused, as he sat next to Draco. “That’s _not_ how it works.”

Pansy drew her wand and aimed it at Blaise. “Sit elsewhere,” she growled.

Smiling, Blaise looked at Vince. “Disarm her.”

“Expelliarmus!”

Pansy’s wand flew out of her grasp before she could react. 

Greg quickly aimed at Blaise and cast, “Silencio!”

Blaise slowly turned to Greg. He leaned forward. Greg wanted to lean back, but the intensity in Blaise’s eyes kept him pinned. Blaise reached out and laid a hand over Greg’s, staring at him, consuming him. It took only a moment before Greg raised his wand again. “Finite,” he said softly.

Blaise grinned and leaned back. “Don’t do anything like that again.”

“You got it,” Greg said.

“Both of you,” Blaise looked between Crabbe and Goyle, “Start mingling through the table and let Slytherin know Draco and I are back together.”

“Sure thing boss,” Vince agreed as he stood.

Draco huffed in frustration. “‘Wouldn’t work on me,’ he said. ‘Shouldn’t be able to feel it,’ he said…”

Greg stood, smiling at Draco. “It’ll be okay,” he reassured his friend. “They’ll be happy for you.” He left to begin spreading the news.

Pansy glared at Blaise. “Snape himself could start wearing ‘I ship Malbini’ shirts and it still wouldn’t change anything. Draco isn’t dating you.”

“Pansy, you’re laboring under the delusion that you’re somehow relevant. Piss off.”

“Don’t talk to her that way.”

Blaise stared at Draco for a long time, searching for something. “Do you hate me?” He asked quietly.

Draco wanted to scream _Yes, I fucking do,_ wanted to cut him to the bone. But the more he thought it, the worse the pain in his chest got, and memories of beautiful moments sang like sirens. “What do you think?” He growled, angry at the pain in his voice.

“I need you to not hate me.”

“And I need you to not hex me!”

“You mean last night? I just wanted to talk to you.” Draco laughed in disbelief. Blaise scowled and explained, “I had to find a way to bring you to me. You run every time I try to make you listen!”

“Because you threaten me!”

“Damnit, Draco--” Blaise hit the table hard enough to rattle the dishes. “Do you understand what you’re doing to me?” There was a wild light in his eyes that unsettled Draco. “My people die if they can’t mate. Halflings don’t have that simplicity. Instead, we lose mental cohesion. You are tearing my mind apart, I already feel stretched so fucking thin, I can’t keep going like this…”

“Slow down,” Draco said, worried that Blaise was telling the truth. “If you need someone that badly—”

“Not ‘someone’,” Blaise interrupted, anticipating where Draco was going, “You. We are very picky, and we lock onto our Chosen until the need passes. I can’t claim another while I have need for you.”

Draco’s eyes narrowed. Was this true? It would explain Blaise’s increased recklessness in using his Charm, his aggression and desperation. 

“Draco,” Blaise whispered reverently, “I’m losing myself.”

Draco watched him closely. “I can’t be with you...”

“Let me Charm you,” Blaise insisted. “If you stop resisting and let yourself feel it all, we can go back to what we had, and let it take its natural course.”

“That’s not an option.”

“Don’t you understand? _I am losing my sanity._ I can feel it slipping and jerking away, and it’s going to get worse.” He sucked in a breath. “You’re my only cure.”

Pansy scoffed. “Isn’t _that_ convenient…”

“Pans,” Draco said, “I think he’s telling the truth.”

“Does it matter?” She asked coldly.

Blaise felt his hands ball into fists, but he kept focused on Draco.

“It matters,” Draco murmured. If any part of the sweet summer boy Draco had loved was real, he wanted to save him. “I can’t be with you. But…can you think of anything that might help, outside of that?”

Blaise tightened his jaw and felt another piece of himself snap and break away. He wondered if Amortentia could bring Draco around; he relaxed slightly as the plan percolated. “Yes,” he said, “Don’t run from me. Let me talk to you, be near you.”

Draco nodded. “Alright,” he said carefully.

“Thank you,” he said, genuinely relieved to make headway. “Can you do me a favour?”

“What is it?”

“Hold my hand.” Draco’s eyes narrowed, but before he could argue Blaise continued. “Just for a minute. It can be under the table, so no one can see. Just please…I need you to reach for me.”

“You ask a lot.”

“You have no idea how much it would help. Please.”

Draco hesitated. Slowly, like the wings of a cricket gliding to chirp, Draco reached into the web of Blaise’s hand. Blaise closed his eyes, smiling at his victory. He gripped and rubbed his prize, wanting to keep it secure. 

“Idiot,” Pansy whispered. 

Draco shot her an annoyed look. “It’s just for a minute, and if it helps keep him calm then so be it.”

The three sat in silence as Blaise absorbed the energy from Draco's intimacy. His eyes fluttered open and his smile grew bolder as he released Draco’s hand. “I knew you still loved me,” he said. He stood and began to walk away.

Outraged, Draco leapt to his feet. His chair crashed behind him as he drew his wand. Blaise turned and saw Draco aiming squarely at his chest, fury snarling around his lips. Blaise smiled, raised his hands in vulnerability, his eyes too-knowing as he waited. Draco’s hand shook and his knuckles whitened from the pressure of his hold. With a frustrated gasp, he lowered his wand. Blaise winked and left.

Draco grabbed his chair and slammed it back into place. “What is wrong with me?!” He growled as he sat down.

Pansy patted his back reassuringly. “It’ll be over soon.”

*

“He handled it, Blaise left, he’s fine. Now stop rushing and match our pace,” Hermione chastised as she and Ron tried to walk Harry to class. 

“I know,” Harry said, slowing back to rejoin them again. “It just looked bad.”

“It probably was,” Ron said, “But it’s over, and learning what happened two minutes faster won’t change things.”

“He’s fine,” Hermione repeated. She tried to distract Harry by sharing an anecdote about a recent Transfiguration class, but Harry was only half listening. He was imagining how good it would feel to shatter Blaise’s nose and break his jaw. 

Pansy stood, alone, waiting for them outside the Dynamics Room. “Where’s Draco?!” Harry asked, panicked that she would be here without him—

“Inside,” she drawled teasingly. 

“Oh, heh…right,” Harry said, embarrassed.

“I wanted to steal you before you went in.” She looked at Ron and Hermione and said dismissively, “You can go on ahead.”

Ron rolled his eyes, muttering “Bloody ice princess” as he walked off. Hermione smiled sheepishly, hoping Pansy didn’t hear him, and gave a little wave to them both as she left.

“Is he okay?” Harry asked.

“Draco’s fine,” Pansy said. “Listen, I talked to Professor Snape. He said the next Hogsmeade trip is coming up in two weeks.” She lowered her voice, glancing around to make sure no one was eavesdropping. “I can get a carriage to pick us up from the village and take us to the Ministry. But you’ll have to get us into the Department of Mysteries and lead us to the Bell Jar. Think you can do it?”

Harry’s heart sped up. “Yes, absolutely.”

“Remember,” Pansy warned, “Draco and I have an image to maintain. When we’re out, you’ll be my boyfriend. That means public displays of affection. Can you handle that, Vesta?”

Harry rubbed the back of his neck, feeling awkward. “I guess? I mean…If Draco’s okay with it?” Guilt squeezed his lungs. “How do I even ask? I don’t want to make him jealous.”

“Just tell him that you wanna check out Hogsmeade with me, and that I said you better not make me look bad. Then get all innocent and ask him what I could have possibly meant. Let him give you permission and guidelines.”

Harry smiled shyly. “Yeah, okay…I can do that.”

Pansy took a deep breath. “Then in two weeks, we rob the Ministry.”

“And in two weeks-and-a-day, we tell Draco everything.”

Pansy nodded, unsure which made her more nervous. “Remind me it’s going to be okay?”

“It’s going to be okay,” Harry said firmly. “This will work.”

“Please, please don’t get us arrested.”

“I promise.”

She smiled. “I better get going. And Draco’s waiting for you.”

The two said goodbye, and Harry walked into the Dynamics room. 

Draco was sitting at his desk writing on pearlescent square parchment. “Good timing, I was just finishing this.”

“What is it?” Harry asked as he sat beside him.

“A thank-you note for Weasley.” 

“A what for who why?”

“It’s _proper_ ,” Draco said, dabbing the feather-end of his quill on Harry’s nose, “after being invited to a social function of importance.” 

“I’m pretty sure Ron wouldn’t call a chess game a ‘social function’…”

“It was an important first step, and I want him to know I’m treating it seriously.”

Harry kissed him long and slow, and whispered against his lips, “Do you have any idea how cute you are?”

“I’m _adorable,_ ” Draco smiled, kissing him back. 

Harry pulled away gently. “I was worried about you…”

“Oh,” he said, thinking back to breakfast. He had made a public spectacle of himself, threatening to duel a man considered his ally by the majority of the school, and worse—immediately backing down like a coward. “Yeah, that was embarrassing,” he admitted quietly. He thought of how Harry never backed down from a fight, with far worse opponents than Blaise, and he felt the heat of shame blacken his teeth and shrivel and curl his insides.

“What happened?”

Draco pursed his lips. “First, tell me Weasley’s favourite animal so I can do this while I explain.”

Harry thought about it. “He loves dogs.”

“What kind of dogs?”

“Big dogs.”

Dogs were boring. “I could do a wolf,” Draco mused, thinking of the details he could add to that.

“Sure. Now what happened?”

Draco turned the page over and began folding, crisp and precise alignments yielding new shapes. “Blaise said some distressing things…”

“Like?”

“…I think he was telling the truth.”

“About?”

Draco swallowed. Measured the next fold more intently than necessary. Continued: “He said that halflings risk their sanity when they aren’t able to procure affections from their target.”

It took a second for Harry to realize what he was saying. “--Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Harry, I’m obviously not going to do anything!”

“How dare he lay that on you!”

“I don’t think he was trying to manipulate me, I think he’s desperate and I think he’s unwell.”

“I think he’s making excuses so you don’t blame him for everything he’s done, or will do!”

“There’s a reason half-incubi are supposed to register with the Ministry,” Draco said calmly. “They are supposed to receive all kinds of training about how to deal with their powers, and he’s had none of that. Imagine if you were expected to control your accidental magic as a kid.”

“I was.”

Draco stopped folding and reached over to squeeze Harry’s hand. “It wasn’t fair, and you needed help.”

Harry fumed.

Draco returned to folding and said quietly, “I think having the Ministry come for him will actually help him, in the long run. They’ll be able to show him how to get through whatever it is he’s dealing with.” He tugged a corner out and pinched the tiny ear tips to make them more pointed and set the animal down on the desk. A rugged, fierce paper wolf reared its head back to silently howl before pacing the table. “But if he’s losing control of himself, we won’t be able to predict him. Honestly…I’m afraid.”

Harry retook his hand. “I swear, I’ll protect you.”

Draco squeezed his hand and tried to ignore the dread in his belly.

*

At lunch hour, Ron was herding the little paper wolf around the bowls and plates at the Gryffindor table.

“Will you just open that thing already?” Hermione asked, creeped out to see a paper creature infused with decision-making abilities and minor intelligence.

“I miss having Scabbers,” Ron said, smiling as he got the wolf to leap over a serving spoon. “You know, back when we all thought Scabbers was a pet and not a creepy old man hiding in a rat suit. And this little guy is way more active.”

“You are _not_ keeping it,” Hermione scolded. “Just unfold it and read it.”

“Zero caretaking required, I don’t have to feed him or clean after him…”

“It, Ron. It. Not him. Don’t do this.”

“I think Brutus suits him, don’t you Harry?”

Harry grinned. “I think if you refuse to read it, I’m gonna have a very offended Slytherin to deal with, so I’m with Hermione.”

Ron sighed dramatically and picked up the wolf. “Sorry little guy, the jury has spoken.” He unfolded it and was a little sad to feel the paper go lifeless in his hands. “‘May union of ink and form herewith devote jubilant greetings unto Ronald Weasley’— _Ugh,_ ” Ron groaned, “This is so pretentious!”

“Keep reading,” Hermione urged with a smile.

Ron huffed and looked back at the letter. “--Unto Ronald Weasley, sixth son of Molly and Arthur Weasley, in warm appreciation for the success of our parley with regards to achieving armistice. Such recognition of our shared allegiance to Harry James Potter, the Phoenix that leads the Order and burns bright with the fires of courage and justice, will undoubtedly bring forth further opportunities for enhancement of our newly forged solidarity. May the light and clarity brought forth via our parley continue to shine true within your breast’—heh, he said ‘breast’!” Ron laughed, pointing at the spot on the page.

Hermione rolled her eyes and Harry couldn’t help but grin at Ron’s contagious laughter. 

“Look, right here!” Ron tilted the parchment to show Harry.

“Will you just keep reading?” Hermione prodded again.

“Ahh, ‘breast’,” Ron repeated, chuckling to himself. “Ahem,” he tried to keep a straight face as he looked back at the letter, “—‘As we walk through this dark time side by side. Yours ever faithfully, your new friend and ally, in respect and sincerity, Draco Lucernus Malfoy, first of his name, son and sole heir to Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy.’ Bloody hell. I sacrificed Brutus for this load of rubbish?!”

“How can you say that?” Hermione chided. “It was so sweet!”

“Sweet?! It went on and on and on _forever,_ using weird old phrases and _the word breast_ and why bring up our parents?? The whole thing is ridiculous!”

Harry laughed. “It was pretty long-winded. But c’mon, it was nice.”

“I can’t believe he’s treating it like we had some super important military-esque ceasefire agreement when all we did was play a bloody game of chess. What’s wrong with this guy?! Why can’t he just write ‘Hey mate, good game, let’s do it again sometime yah’? That’s all he had to do.” A wicked grin ticked across his face. “I’m going to write him back,” Ron said gleefully, unfolding his paper napkin. “Pass me the jam.”

“What are you doing?” Hermione asked, amused, as she passed him the strawberry jam.

“He horrified me in his way, I’ll horrify him in mine.”

“In that case,” Harry said, “Use the grape jelly. In my body I hate the smell, which means it’ll bug him even more.”

Ron laughed and took the grape jelly, spooning a large dollop onto his plate. He dabbed his finger into it and smeared it across the napkin: _Dear little d, Thnx 4 ur note, cant wait 2 play again soon. From—_

“What’s a cool word that rhymes with ‘Ron’?” he asked.

Harry thought about it and shook his head. “Sorry mate, I got nothing. I keep coming up with ‘prawn’ and ‘yawn’.”

Ron scowled. 

“Khan,” Hermione said. Both boys turned to look at her. “It means ruler or emperor. Like Genghis Khan. If you really want to drive him around the bend, write it as Khan Ron—the inverted positioning will infuriate him.”

“Do you think he’ll know it’s not supposed to be that way though?”

Hermione smirked. “He’s the only student in our year who challenges me academically. He will know.”

Ron grinned at Harry. “Look at us, falling for the brainy types.” He signed it _Khan Ron_ and laughed at the perfect mess of his creation.

*

Ron carried the napkin message flat across both palms as they walked Harry to the Dynamics Room and insisted on waiting so he could give it to Draco directly.

“Here he comes,” Ron stage whispered. Harry smiled at how excited he was. “Oy, Malfoy,” Ron said as Draco and Pansy arrived. “I thought your note deserved some reciprocity. Here!” He thrust the napkin in front of him.

Draco’s eyebrows shot up and his lip began to curl as he looked at it, looked at Ron, and realized he was expected to touch it. He accepted it with pinched fingertips, horrified to discover there was actual jam smeared all over it— _was that a fingerprint?_ His face began to twist in disgust and Pansy smoothly said, “It’s very quaint.”

Swallowing, Draco tried his best to retain a neutral face. “Yes,” he choked, “Quaint.”

“Thank you,” Pansy continued to lead.

“Yes….” He struggled. “…Thanks.”

“You’re welcome!” Ron beamed. He and Hermione left, and Ron spent the entirety of their walk reliving Draco’s reaction.

Draco looked at Harry. “”

Harry laughed. “Your note came off as snobby and Ron wanted to make things more casual.”

“This isn’t casual!” Draco hissed. “This is garbage! Literal garbage! He made me thank him for taking his trash!!!”

Pansy laughed. “Oh look here, do you think he used the napkin before turning it into such _art_?” She pointed to a smear that looked suspiciously like it had cleaned bacon grease.

Draco couldn’t hide his disgust any longer. “Ugh!” He dropped the napkin. Harry laughed. “Pansy, tell me you still have some blossom paper.”

“I am _not_ giving you blossom paper just to annoy Weasley.”

“ _Pansyhegavemetrash!_ ” Draco’s voice shot an octave higher in his distress.

“Okay, okay,” she relented. “One page. But that’s it.”

“Blossom paper?” Harry asked.

Draco grinned savagely. “Oh yes. He thought my note was too traditional before? Just wait. Just wait…”

Pansy shook her head. “This has got to be your most petty revenge scheme yet. And I helped you make the ‘Potter Stinks’ badges.”

“Oh, did you?” Harry teased. “Thanks for that.”

She smiled at Harry as she leaned in to kiss Draco goodbye and left. 

“Sneak it to me between classes!” Draco called after her.

“Said the actress to the bishop,” Harry couldn’t help muttering under his breath.

“What?” Draco asked, half-hearing.

“Nothing. Muggle joke.”

Draco almost let it go, but remembered his conversation with Ron last night about whether or not he would share muggle experiences with Harry. “Walk me through it,” Draco said. 

Harry smiled, moved that Draco would ask.

*

“And then I had to explain the joke to him,” Harry recounted to Ron and Hermione over dinner. Hermione was laughing. “He’s actually _trying_ to do better with muggle stuff and here I am, starting him off with stupid innuendos. Why couldn’t I have been talking about something sophisticated and impressive for him to question? Ugh!”

“Go back to the part where he’s sending me some secret thing,” Ron asked.

“Operative word being ‘secret’…”

“Harry, come on!”

A dove flew over the Gryffindor table and perched in front of Ron. Ron jerked a thumb at the dove and asked, “Is this it?” The dove cooed at him and extended its leg, to which a pink envelope was attached.

“Open it and find out,” Harry suggested helpfully.

Ron scowled playfully and untied the ribbon, releasing the dove from its service. He picked up a butter knife and used it to slice open the top of the envelope.

The envelope exploded in a shower of pink rose petals that formed a column around Ron, perpetually appearing above his head and floating down. Ron felt his ears go red. “Bloody hell,” he swore, “What has he done?!”

“It’s so pretty!” Hermione exclaimed. “You look straight out of Sailor Moon!”

“Sailor what?”

“Actually yeah he kinda does,” Harry laughed. “Ron, hold up your robes like a cape.”

Ron shrugged and obligingly held one end of his robes in a dramatic swoosh.

Hermione laughed. “Perfect!” She reached out and plucked one of the petals—and it turned to crystal in her hand.

The entire Gryffindor table was captivated by the display, calling out questions or cooing over how romantic it looked. Ron rolled his eyes. “This much fuss just opening the envelope? Bloody tosser.” He pulled the letter out and a shower of glitter joined the rose petals. He scowled and began reading. “Oh my god, he takes an entire paragraph just to say ‘Dear Ron’. Ugh…Let’s see, blah blah blah…” he skimmed through the formalities until he seemed to find the point of the letter. “…oh, here: ‘the intimacy with which you created your prior correspondence is truly a treasure which will be remembered generations from now’, what a fucking joke…oh my god. This entire thing is just a giant wank-fest to say thank you for how I said thank you.” Ron skimmed further and let out a horrified yelp. 

“What?” Hermione asked with a grin on her face.

“His sign-off,” Ron explained weakly. “He wrote, ‘And for the record, it’s Big D—just ask Harry.’”

Hermione squealed in laughter and Harry knew he was blushing but just grinned through it. The rose petals finished falling when Ron finished reading the letter.

“He can’t get away with this,” Ron said. “He can’t win, he just can’t.” He dug out his Advanced Potions textbook and flipped to a random page. 

He tore the page out.

Hermione gasped and instantly cast repairo. “Ron!” she reprimanded.

“He’ll be even more horrified than you, it’s his favourite class,” Ron insisted as he tore it out again. Hermione looked ready to swallow her tongue. “‘Dear Big D, Game next week, same time same place? From Khan Ron. PS: The D stands for Douchebag’.” He then folded it intentionally uneven into a paper airplane and charmed it to fly and land in front of Draco. 

The trio watched eagerly as Draco sneered in annoyance at the terrible folding job. He picked it up and his eyes grew large and his mouth gaped as he realized it was a page _torn from a book_. Ron and Harry cracked up laughing and Hermione groaned in commiseration.

As they stood to return to Gryffindor tower, Ron felt a sharp tap on his shoulder. He turned and saw Lavender. “We need to talk,” she said.

“Uhh…” he looked at Hermione. “She wants to talk,” he said.

“I heard.” Hermione folded her arms across her chest and stared hard at him.

Ron looked back at Lavender, and back to Hermione, feeling like he got caught in a bear trap and wondering if he’d have to chew off his own leg to escape. “Okay, Lav. I mean, Lavender. Uh…go ahead.”

“Alone.”

“Oh…” Ron rubbed the back of his neck, sensing the trap had become life-threatening. He looked at Hermione again, and had no idea what she expected him to do. “Uh, okay, I guess? I mean, for a minute?” 

“If that’s what you want,” she said.

“…Okay, I’ll be right back…”

“Oh, I’m not waiting around,” Hermione said pointedly. 

“Oh. Okay,” Ron said, not recognizing the danger in her words. “Meet you back at the Tower then?”

“We’ll see. Come on, Harry.” She turned on her heel. 

Harry looked at Ron. “You better make it quick,” Harry advised, and left with Hermione.

Hermione was fuming as they walked down the hall. “Can you believe him?!” She asked. “He wants a secret conversation with his ex! He practically kicked me out of the Great Hall!”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Harry defended. 

“Anything she has to say to him, she should be able to say in front of me!”

“…maybe, but that would be really embarrassing for her.”

“He should care more about my feelings than hers!”

“He does!”

“Whose side are you on?!”

“I’m on Team Mr-and-Mrs Granger-Weasley,” Harry insisted. “I get that it’s uncomfortable to see him have a private talk with Lavender, but you gotta have faith that he’s not going to say or do anything stupid.” 

Hermione snorted. “Oh, really?”

“They’re just closing whatever loose ends she has. He’s _yours_. You know that, right?”

Hermione softened a little. “Are you sure?”

“A thousand percent yes.”

She smiled at him. 

“ _Petrificus Totalus!_ ” 

\--Hermione froze solid and fell to the floor. Harry unsheathed his wand and turned—

“Drop it,” Blaise said before Harry could open his mouth. Harry’s wand clattered to the floor. “ _Accio_ wand,” Blaise cast, catching the wand in mid-air and tucking it through his belt. “Stay quiet, don’t draw attention to yourself, and follow me.”

Harry felt the compulsion to obey and walked towards Blaise. The Switch provided just enough buffer against the Charm that although Harry couldn’t defy it he could maintain fractions of true feelings and some independent thought; he was furious with himself for leaving Hermione hexed on the ground. He made a fist with his left hand, and since they were alone in the hall he wouldn’t be drawing attention if he got just a bit closer and—

“Don’t make any attempts to resist me,” Blaise said with a laugh in his voice as he noticed Harry’s intentions. Harry’s hands relaxed at his sides. “That’s better. Nice try, though.” He grinned as Harry walked faithfully in step with him. “We’ll go someplace nice and private and have a little chat. Smile, Harry. We don’t want anyone to think something’s wrong.” Harry smiled.

Blaise led him down many hallways until they came to a remote classroom. He ushered Harry inside and locked the door. “You don’t have to be quiet anymore,” he said.

Harry glared hatefully at him. He refused to be a willing participant in Blaise’s games. 

“Nothing to say?” Blaise taunted. “Then listen. You and Draco broke through my Charm when I tried ordering you not to see him anymore. Which means I have to get him to decide to stop seeing you.” Blaise stepped closer to him until they were nearly toe to toe. “Do you have secrets from Draco?”

Harry grit his teeth but was forced to answer. “Yes.”

Blaise took Harry’s hand, his Charm at its strongest with physical contact. “Don’t waste my time with bullshit things you haven’t told him like your home life or who your favourite teacher is. Do you have any secrets that could directly impact your relationship with Draco?”

Harry’s heart started racing. “Yes.”

Blaise smiled. “Tell me.”

A flash of defiance in his eyes and Harry said boldly, “He doesn’t know I love him.”

Blaise’s eyes narrowed and the tension in his jaw made every word a growl. “You insolent little bitch.” Blaise leaned into Harry’s ear. “Take off your clothes.” 

Harry slid his robe off his shoulders as Blaise stepped back and watched. Panic seared his every nerve. It was more fearful to perform this coerced strip than it would be to fight someone trying to tear his clothes off. Harry wanted so badly to fight. All he could do was pin Blaise with his eyes, show his spirit unbowed. 

Soon, Harry stood naked with his hands covering himself. 

“Hands at your sides,” Blaise instructed quietly. 

Harry did so. He hated the way Blaise _looked_ at him, the way his eyes slowly roamed. His hands began to shake, his palms sweaty.

Blaise pressed a hand to Harry’s chest. His earlier command to not resist meant Harry couldn’t move away from his touch. “I’ve missed this body,” Blaise sighed, and the corner of his mouth ticked. His fingers fell like rain sliding down a window. He gripped Harry’s wrist and spun him around, pinning his wrist against his mid back, and grabbed a fistful of blonde hair. He bent the boy over a desk and slammed his head into the wood.

Harry’s head swam from impact, and he could feel his hips bruise as he was pushed into the edge of the desk. He grit his teeth, breathing hard through his nose as his heart raced in panic.

Blaise lay over Harry and reveled in the feeling of Draco’s body beneath his where it belonged. He took a deep breath of his hair and whispered in his ear, “Do you want to like it? Or should I just take you?” He ground his clothed erection against his ass, and could sense the fear like a vibration off Harry’s skin. It was delightful.

“Do whatever you’re going to do,” Harry said in a dark, flat voice. “And go to hell.”

Blaise chuckled. “You think you’re brave, don’t you?” He licked Harry’s ear, pumping his hips in slow firm movements. “I promise you: pain is always stronger.” He peeled himself off Harry. “Get up.”

Harry stood and turned to face him. 

Blaise cupped his face with one hand, injecting his Charm to spur desire into the boy. Harry gasped as his body immediately reacted, his cock stiffening and his eyes softening as the Charm warped its way through him. Harry’s breath caught at the beauty before him, and he felt a pulsing in his fingertips as he ached to touch him. 

“We’ll start with desire,” Blaise mused amicably, his eyes burning a little too bright, “And cut it somewhere along the way. It’s more fun to mix fear and shame, lust and anger.” Blaise watched the yearning stretch across Harry’s bones and smiled. “Kiss me.”

Harry molded his naked body against his attacker and kissed him, his mouth open and his body quivering. Blaise’s tongue filled him, counting his teeth and stabbing towards his tonsils. Harry stroked Blaise’s body, entranced with every hard line and curve of muscle. Blaise sucked hard at his neck, leaving a dark purple bruise, and Harry moaned, “Enough playing, just fuck me.”

Blaise laughed. Perhaps cranking his Charm to its highest level had been overdoing it a little. He took Harry’s cock, pumping him with a teasingly light hold. “Eager little slut, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Harry answered breathily, “Make me your slut. Please. I want you to be my first.”

Blaise jerked back. “What did you say?” 

He cut the Charm.

The lust drained from Harry’s eyes and his groin and for the first time that night the boy avoided his gaze.

“Tell me what you meant,” Blaise commanded, dialing the Charm back up high.

“I haven’t—I’m a virgin,” Harry muttered. His face burned in humiliation that he was sharing something so personal with someone like Blaise Zambini.

Blaise slowly smiled and let his words coil around his victim. “You’re a celebrity, you could fuck or get fucked by any man or woman of your choosing. So why would someone like you wait…Are you scared?” _Oh, this could make things so much better--_

“No,” Harry said, meeting his eyes again. 

Frowning with disappointment, Blaise asked, “Then what are you doing? Why wait?”

“I don’t want sex without love.”

“But you just said that you—” Blaise stopped, and his whole face lit up as he realized the truth. “… _He doesn’t love you._ ” 

Harry said nothing. He knew Draco cared about him…but love? Harry didn’t believe anyone could really love him. 

Blaise crowed at Harry’s silence. “That’s the best news I could have hoped for!” He gripped Harry’s chin and relished the hint of defeat that shone in his eyes. “Now, finish telling me what secrets you have from Draco.”

Harry desperately threw every inch of willpower against the command but failed to stay silent. “Pansy’s pregnant.”

Blaise’s eyes narrowed. “And why would you know that and not Draco?”

“Because the child’s mine—and Draco’s—he had sex with her in my body.”

Blaise stared. “He refused to fuck me….and turned around and fucked Pansy?” Outraged, Blaise threw Harry to the floor, his palms and knees shredding under the uneven stones. “Stay down!” Blaise bellowed. Harry swallowed. Blaise removed his belt and transfigured it into a birch cane, and with surprising gentleness he said, “Do you know a cane can split an ass like a water balloon?” Harry closed his eyes, bracing himself. Blaise smiled and struck. For a second, Harry only felt a heavy thump and thought perhaps this wouldn’t be so bad. But after a small delay, a new, searing pain radiated in shocking speed and intensity. Harry gasped, and was struck again before he had a chance to recover. He cried out. Blaise welted him across the back, across his ass, over his thighs. The pain mounted exponentially, heat rippling across his body as each strike felt like a burning iron bar that seemed to sink deep into his muscles. Harry crumpled flat to the ground as the pain engulfed him. Blaise didn’t care. He beat Harry until he exhausted the fury that screamed inside him. For a moment, Harry saw white and thought he might pass out—he wished he’d pass out. 

“Now that’s a pretty sight,” Blaise smiled, watching the welts swell and bleed as Harry wept on the floor. “Stand.”

Harry tried, but moving made his body feel on fire. He forced himself, somehow, to stand, still crying uncontrollably. 

Blaise cast a calming spell on him and Harry was able to breathe without sobbing. “That’s better,” Blaise said. His mouth ticked. “Kiss me.”

Harry leaned in and kissed him, and the moment their lips touched Blaise used his Charm to make Harry enjoy it. Harry moaned softly into his mouth in grateful relief at the pleasure that filled him, hating himself and hating Blaise every second.

Blaise cupped Harry’s face and slowly licked the tear tracks. The scent of his abuser lingering on his face repulsed him, but the Charm continued to force his pleasure. Shame slicked across his skin.

Blaise smiled benevolently. “Do you have any other secrets from Draco?”

Harry took a deep breath. “One.”

Blaise kissed him. Harry kissed back, knowing the command was coming and terrified to answer. “Tell me.”

His heart breaking, Harry admitted: “There’s a prophecy that says I will ‘have power the Dark Lord knows not’. Draco and I think it means the Switch. But I’m scared it means using the extreme reaches of the Switch’s power. Using that would destroy Draco’s magic and turn him into a muggle.” Guilty tears blurred his vision. “What he doesn’t know, is that if I have to, I will do it.”

Soft lips pressed against his own, and Harry opened his mouth to Blaise’s probing tongue. Blaise kissed him as if he were rewarding him. “That’s exactly what I needed,” he said softly. He ended the desire Charm. “Get dressed. We’re done here.” 

Harry carefully, slowly bent to retrieve his clothes. He stepped into his pants and trousers but barely got them raised halfway past his knees when the pain from the fabric touching his welts made him cry out. “I can’t,” Harry said, the fabric tight across the front of his legs as he held it away from the back of his body. “You have to heal some of this.”

Blaise took out his wand and with a swift upward motion, the clothes were pulled up to Harry’s hips. He screamed, instinctively stepping on tip-toe trying to escape the movement, and fell a step forward into Blaise. Blaise laughed. “Do you know what helps with pain? Desire.” He reached past the fabric and stroked Harry’s cock, letting him get hard before slowly zipping him away. Harry was trembling; the weight of the fabric held tight to his hips was agonizing, and the swelling in his cock made him want to cry. 

The door opened. “Expelliarmus!” Hermione yelled. Blaise’s wand flew into her hand.

“Protegro!” Harry cast automatically. The wandless shielding charm engulfed him and Blaise as Harry realized, sickened, that not-resisting Blaise meant not allowing resistance to him from others.

“Obedience is engrained deep in you, isn’t it?” Blaise taunted, pleased. Harry wanted to break his gloating face. He kissed Harry affectionately and took a small silver dagger from his belt. “Now Granger,” he said, putting a hand on Harry’s shoulder and spinning him to show the thick crimson welts lining his back. “See what happened to Harry when I was having fun?” He turned Harry around to face him again and held the knife so it tickled his eyelashes. “Things could get ugly if I’m not having fun. Drop the wands.”

Hermione anxiously looked at Harry and dropped the wands.

“Harry, summon those for me.” Harry obliged, Blaise’s Charm helping conduct Harry’s magical ability with an ease Harry lacked otherwise. Blaise tucked Hermione’s through his belt, next to Harry’s, and kept hold of his own. Blaise smiled at Harry. “Sit on the desk behind you.”

Harry stepped dutifully back towards the desk, his eyes widening. “Blaise, you know I can’t,” he said. His legs hit the edge and he gasped from the pain that seared through him. “Blaise!”

“Yes you can,” Blaise crooned. “Sit.” 

Harry’s legs trembled. His hands reached behind him to support his weight as he pulled himself up, his ass hovering over the desk. “I can’t…” His fingers strained to hold himself up.

“Blaise, enough!” Hermione yelled.

Blaise put both hands on Harry’s thighs and pressed down. Harry sat, a strangled scream escaping. His head dropped onto Blaise’s shoulder as dizziness and nausea threatened to overtake him. Blaise chuckled. “Good job,” he said. “Now, kiss me and say thank you.”

Harry lifted his head up and kissed him, the Charm eliciting enjoyment and chasing some of the pain back. Harry hoped he’d throw up all over Blaise. “Thank you,” he murmured between deep kisses.

Blaise pulled back and smiled at Hermione, his eyes fevered. “Now that we’re all comfortable, here’s what’s gonna happen. Harry, I’m going to give you this knife; if Granger disobeys me, stab yourself in the gut to the hilt. Can you do that for me?”

“Yes,” Harry agreed softly, griping the handle.

“Good. Drop the shield charm.”

The charm dissolved. Blaise strolled over to Hermione and put an arm around her shoulders. She flinched, glaring at him in disgust, but didn’t push him off in case that could be considered ‘disobeying’.

“Tell me,” Blaise began, “Who found you?”

“Ron.”

“Hm…clever of you not to bring him along. But I can hardly imagine he’d just wave goodbye as you rushed to rescue your friend.” Blaise studied her. “Where did he go?”

Hermione thought quickly. “He ran to get Luna and Ginny. He knew I’d need girls backing me up.” She tilted her chin up. “They’ll be here any second.”

Blaise smiled. “Harry,” he called, still watching Hermione, “What would you do if I told you I think Hermione is lying to me?”

“I’d stab myself in the gut, up to the hilt.”

“Perhaps Hermione doesn’t believe you really would.”

Hermione’s eyes grew wider. “No, I believe--”

“Harry,” Blaise raised his voice over hers. “Cut your arm someplace nice and deep, give us something flashy so she knows we’re serious.”

“No, don’t!” Hermione cried.

Harry sliced his arm, blood drooling thick and dark from the wound. He returned the blade to dig into his stomach, now dripping with his blood. Hermione gasped.

“Now you see, it would be very bad for him if I thought you were lying.” Blaise squeezed her shoulder. “Is there anything you may have misremembered about what you told me?”

Hermione felt her gut turn to stone. She pursed her lips. “I…may have misremembered, accidentally.” She watched Harry with worry. 

“Where did Ron go?”

She sighed. “…Ron went to get Pansy.”

Blaise smiled widely. “And Draco, I presume?”

“Yes.”

“Excellent. And the plan from there?”

Hermione hesitated.

“If you think too long, it might seem as if you’re fabricating a reply,” Blaise warned.

Giving in, Hermione answered honestly. “Ron would go to the Dynamics Room, and Pansy and Draco would come here. Or if I got Harry first, I’d have him use his button to alert Draco, and they’d all meet us at the Dynamics Room.”

“Button?”

“We have buttons to communicate with,” she said quietly. “When Ron unfroze me, I used mine to trace Harry’s to figure out his location.”

“Cute,” Blaise sneered. “Harry, use your button. I want Draco waiting for me in the Dynamics Room.” Blaise smiled at Hermione. “Since you’ve been so helpful, I’m going to leave you with some entertainment. Walk with me.” He walked her up to face Harry.

“Harry,” he began in a mock serious tone. “Do you have secrets from Granger?”

“Yes,” Harry said.

“Good.” Blaise stroked Harry’s cheek. He smiled at Hermione. “Here’s the game: I’m going to order Harry to reveal everything he’s ever kept from you.” He raised his wand and a neon green number ‘sixty’ lit the air. “For one minute, he will expose himself—emotionally, of course--and you will stand here with your hands on his thighs. If you keep your hands on him for the full sixty seconds, my Charms on him will be broken.” He grinned. “If, however, he says something interesting…all you have to do is remove your hands to stop the timer. You can hear as much as you want. He will have to keep spilling his secrets until he gets a consecutive sixty seconds of your hands on him, or until he runs out of confessions.” He looked at Harry. “Sound like fun?” 

Harry grimaced, his nostrils flaring.

“Alright Granger, hands on to start!”

Hermione tentatively laid her hands on Harry’s knees.

“For the ‘brightest witch of her age’, you’re pretty ignorant about basic anatomy. _I said his thighs,_ ” Blaise teased, putting his hands over hers and moving them high up Harry’s legs. She quickly pulled them down an inch. 

Blaise dialed his Charm high and ordered Harry to do as he had described. A flick of his wand and the timer began its countdown as Blaise left. He cast a locking hex on the classroom door and happily rushed to the Dynamics Room.

Harry took a deep breath. “Remember the potion you made for me to suppress sexual desire?” Harry felt his face heating up, horrified that this was the first secret he was about to tell her. “How it backfired, and it took me a day to shake the feelings it created?” He couldn’t look at her while he finished. “I still see Ron that way. Not always, just in moments. I look at him and I remember kissing him, and how _good_ it felt. And for a moment, I want to kiss him. It’s weird. I don’t see him romantically, I swear I don’t, and I know I don’t actually want to do anything like that with him. But for seconds, I do. And I’m afraid that he’d freak out if he knew or that you’ll be angry at me now.”

“No,” Hermione said softly, squeezing his legs. Harry looked up at her and she smiled reassuringly at him.

“I’m scared about you and Ron dating,” he admitted. “You two have wanted this for so long, and it’s finally here--I’m scared that you won’t need me anymore. That you won’t want to spend time with the third wheel.” Hermione shook her head as he continued. “I’m scared that you’ll break up, and that you and I won’t be friends anymore.”

“You’re stuck with me,” she said. She glanced at the timer—eighteen seconds to go. “More than half way there.”

“When I first arrived at the Dursleys,” Harry tried to drag his mouth into speaking a different secret, but he couldn’t stop what had started. “I was just over a year old. Aunt Petunia thought buying a second crib was wasteful, and so she’d put me in a suitcase to sleep. To keep me from getting out, she’d duct tape my arms and legs to my body, and she’d put a sock in my mouth and duct tape over it so I wouldn’t cry and scare Dudley.”

“What?” Hermione breathed, uncomprehending. Five seconds left. “I’m sorry--” she pulled her hands away, condemning Harry to continue his forced confessions.

His eyes widened in shocked betrayal.

“I’m so sorry,” she repeated, sickened with herself. “Tell me everything.”

*

Draco, Pansy, and Ron were in the Dynamics Room. Ron was pacing, and Pansy was rubbing a hand up Draco’s back soothingly.

At the sound of the door opening, they all looked up in relief.

“Expelliarmus!” Blaise cast at Pansy as he entered. Her wand flew into his waiting hand.

“Incarcerous!” Ron bellowed. Blaise, having waited a second too long to receive Pansy’s wand, was hit with the curse and ropes bound his ankles and arms causing him to topple over.

“Weasley, release me!” Blaise snarled with his Charm.

Ron cast _finite_ and the ropes disappeared, and he immediately attacked again: “Petrificus Totalus!” 

Blaise dodged and Charmed Ron: “Make no move against me.”

Ron lowered his wand.

Blaise grinned. “That’s better.” Turning to Pansy, he called out to her. “Little wife, I hear congratulations are in order.” 

She paled. “Don’t…”

“Do me a favour,” he said. “Stand guard outside the door. I don’t expect we’ll be interrupted, but Harry’s nothing if not unpredictable. Make sure no one comes in until after I’m gone.”

Pansy considered the unspoken deal he offered. “…I can’t let you hurt them.”

“Pansy?” Draco asked. What did Blaise have on her?

“I’m just going to have a little talk, that’s all. I’m keeping Weasley around so Draco is inspired to shut up and listen instead of fight me. And then I’ll go.” He smiled. “Promise.”

She bit her lip. Without a backwards glance, she held her head high and walked toward the door. Draco watched her walk away, hurt that she’d leave him, hurt that she was keeping a secret from him, wondering why.

As Pansy was about to pass Blaise he took her by the upper arm. “Before you go,” he whispered to her, barely audible. “I want you to keep this in mind.” He concentrated hard, his grip on her arm bruising.

A deep cramp shot through her belly with the speed of an elastic band. Her mouth opened slightly and it took all her will not to double over in pain.

“…If you try to do something _clever_ , I can force the little parasite out of your body.” She looked up at him in fear. “Incubi have powers over reproduction. I can expel it any time I want. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she said.

Blaise reached further with his magic, wanting to know if… “It’s a girl,” he sighed. “Too bad. I was hoping that in a few months I could make it cannibalize you from the inside out.” Pansy’s hands were shaking. She could feel his magic inside her, touching her child, and she wanted to kill him for it. He smiled. “I suppose you and I will have to find another way to mete out justice for you fucking my boyfriend.” He released her arm. “Now go on. Be a good girl and keep watch for me.”

She walked out and slammed the door shut.

Blaise laughed. “She’s certainly moody, isn’t she?” He turned and saw Draco and Ron whispering to each other. His eyes narrowed. How had he phrased his earlier command again? “Weasley,” he chided as he sauntered towards them. “Sit down, and be a perfectly still, silent little doll.”

Ron slid into the seat behind him, a gently painted smile on his face, his shoulders relaxed as he stared blankly ahead.

“What did you do with Harry and Hermione?” Draco asked, purposely using her first name.

“Nothing!”

“No, Ron’s right,” Draco argued. “You used Harry’s button, and it was a plan only Hermione knew about.” 

“They’re fine, I locked them in a classroom,” Blaise dismissed. He took out the wands he stole from Harry, Hermione, and Pansy and set them with a soft _click_ on the table with Ron. “You can keep these. I don’t need them anymore.”

Draco’s eyes narrowed. Blaise approached him slowly. “Draco,” Blaise began, “Why are you with Harry?”

“A hundred reasons. Every reason. The only reason.”

“Because you trust him.”

“Yes.”

“Because you think he would never hurt you.”

“I know he wouldn’t.”

Blaise took a step closer and asked softly, “What if I told you you’re wrong?”

Draco glared at him. “I wouldn’t believe you.”

Blaise smiled. “I’m sorry…but it’s true.” He took Draco’s hand. Draco tried to pull away and Blaise held firm. “I used my Charm on Potter and asked him if he was hiding anything from you.” Draco’s hand stilled in his. Blaise brought their joined hands to his chest. “He told me he had one, big, secret.” He kissed the top of Draco’s hand. “I’m sorry. He never should have strung you along.”

“What are you talking about?” Draco asked, his voice quiet, the roaring in his veins leaving a residue of anxiety through his blood.

“You know there’s a prophecy,” Blaise said. He was inching closer, to stand like a pair of lovers. “That says Harry Potter would have power the Dark Lord knows not.” 

Draco hadn’t expected Blaise to talk about something real. The truth caught like a barb in Draco’s throat. “Yes…”

Blaise stroked his hand. “Potter told me the two of you discussed it, and thought perhaps this might mean the Switch.” Draco nodded. “Potter said he’s certain it’s referencing the Switch’s ability to act outside the laws of magic. He plans to use that to defeat the Dark Lord.” He paused. “He decided that your magic is expendable. He plans to leave you a muggle.”

Draco felt all the air leave his lungs and couldn’t remember how to pull it back in. “He wouldn’t,” he said weakly.

“I wouldn’t know about the prophecy if he hadn’t said it.”

Draco’s chest swelled and seized, and tears streaked his face. “But…he knows…” Draco croaked, his voice closing off and leaving him unable to say the rest.

Blaise finished the sentence for him. “…He knows losing your magic would kill you.” He watched the tremors course through him. “He won’t save you. Because he doesn’t love you.” Draco felt the cry bubble from his throat. Blaise pulled him in for an embrace, wrapping his arms around him. He stroked a hand through Draco’s hair, the way he used to do every night. “All I’ve ever wanted was you. But Potter—all he wants is his weapon. He would let you lose everything if it meant he could win.”

Draco broke, and began weeping into Blaise’s shoulder, his hands slowly curling to hold onto him. Blaise smiled. “I won’t let that happen to you,” Blaise whispered. “I’ll save you.” 

Draco gently pulled back and folded his arms across his chest, physically trying to hold himself together. Tears slid hot and slow down his face. “I don’t know what to think…”

“Come back to Slytherin with me,” Blaise urged. “We’ll have the House Elves bring tea to my room, and we’ll talk about everything.” He saw the indecision on Draco’s face. “I still have some bags of that Taiwanese black-walnut peach stuff you like so much.” A surprised laugh leapt out of Draco, and it made him cry even more. Blaise tried to embrace him again, but Draco stepped back.

“No,” Draco said softly. “I need to think. I need some time. Alone.”

Blaise frowned. “But you hate being alone when you’re upset.”

Draco looked up at him, dark lashes sticking together, eyes lined with wetness. “Last time I came to you when I was upset, you assaulted me.”

Blaise shook his head. “I thought I was helping us. I swear I won’t hurt you.”

“Please…just go.”

Blaise felt impatience rattle his ribs like jail bars. Reminding himself to be gentle, he took Draco by his upper arms and kissed him on the forehead.

“Don’t--”

“I’m just saying goodbye,” Blaise interrupted. He was incredibly frustrated that Draco refused to concede even a simple kiss, after everything Blaise had done for him. 

Blaise let him go, released Weasley from his Charm, and left.

Draco held himself tightly, finding it hard to catch his breath through the tears. Ron stood and went to him. The Gryffindor rubbed the back of his neck, awkward, uncertain. “You should sit down,” he offered. Draco nodded. He didn’t move. “Come on,” Ron said gently, putting an arm over his shoulders and leading him towards the desks.

Draco sat, and laid his head in his arms atop the desk. There was a jagged hollowness that bore through his chest, aching and infinite.

Ron sat beside him. “I don’t know what I’d do if Harry asked me to sacrifice my magic,” Ron admitted softly. “I’d like to think I’d accept what had to be done, be a hero and all that. But it’s the worst fate I can imagine. I’d rather give up my sight. Or my legs. Anything.” Ron paused. “If you got turned into a muggle, you wouldn’t just lose your magic. You’d lose your family, your home—you’d be stuck in a world you don’t trust and don’t understand. Bloody hell, anyone who’s ever met you knows you’d rather—” He stopped. Righteous anger fueling him, he said, “I don’t understand how Harry thinks he can decide something like that. It’s your magic on the line, it should be your decision. Not his. And he doesn’t even talk to you about it?” He shook his head. “The whole thing stinks.”

Draco cried harder. Ron put a hand on his back sympathetically, then drew away again. “You and I both know he’s trying to get here. Do you want to see him when he does?”

“N-no,” Draco choked.

Ron nodded to himself. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll make sure he stays out.”

Draco lifted his head to look at Ron. “Why?”

Ron didn’t understand the question. “Because it’s the right thing to do,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Take as long as you need,” Ron added. He stood and walked away, and soon Draco heard the door open and close behind him.

*

“When I was nine,” Harry continued, not even sure what was left to tell her anymore, “I was running from Dudley and his gang and my accidental magic had me Apparate onto the roof of the school. I asked Aunt Petunia what happened to me.” Harry’s nose wrinkled in anger at his own ignorance. “She said God put me there to jump. ‘You were supposed to kill yourself, and join your parents in Hell’.” Every look Hermione gave during one of his confessions was straight out of Harry’s nightmares. “I believed her for a long time. Not the part about my parents being in Hell, but I thought God had put me there to die. I didn’t have any other explanation. I contemplated suicide, but I was too afraid I’d survive an attempt.” The neon number sixty vanished and Harry felt the Charm release its hold. Harry threw the dagger to the ground.

Realizing it was over, Hermione quickly said, “Harry, I had to.”

“Don’t justify,” Harry snarled. In one quick push, he heaved himself off the table. The searing pain from the compressed welts across his ass and thighs left his legs too weak to hold him and he fell to the ground. Hermione rushed to help him. “Get away from me!” He thrashed his arm out to deflect her trying to help him up. Breathless from the throbbing pain, he gathered his strength to push through it.

“Let me help you,” she pleaded.

“You could have helped,” Harry said, “If you had just kept your hands on me and let the timer run its course.” Harry held his breath and pushed himself to his feet. As skin and muscle flexed around his movement, each welt was pulled or pressed, burning anew. He panted as he stood. “But oh no,” he mocked. “You offer help as apology rather than altruism.”

“That’s not true!” Hermione cried. “The things you told me—they had to be said! You needed to tell someone!”

“And I had!” Harry yelled. Seeing the shock on her face, he sneered. “Just because I hadn’t told you, doesn’t mean I hadn’t told anyone.” He looked down at his shirt, trying to psych himself up to put it on.

“Ron?” Hermione guessed weakly.

Harry picked up the shirt and bunched up the left sleeve so he could put just his hand through. “Draco.” 

Hermione gaped at him. “You trust him more than us?”

Harry gave a brittle laugh. “You just betrayed me, Hermione.” Harry swung the shirt over his shoulders, cringing as the fabric set fire to his wounds. He let out a growl, telling himself to _bear it_ , hanging onto resistance by threads as his body screamed at him to remove the shirt. His hands were shaking so badly that working the buttons was challenging. He gave up after getting the three middle ones to close; that would have to do. 

“…How much did you tell Draco?”

Harry looked up at her. It was hard to think straight, the pain was so consuming. “Most of it,” he said. He took his tie and wrapped it around the cut in his arm, using his teeth to help knot it off. “The cupboard, the beatings, the starvation.”

“And what happened during the starvation?”

“No.” Harry stared hard. “And don’t ever bring that up again.” 

“Harry,” she said gently. “That’s like…the one part that maybe you _need_ to talk to Draco about.”

Afraid, Harry got right in her face and glared down at her. With steel eyes and voice, he said, “Nobody else hears about that. Not from you, ever. Understood?”

“Are you going to tell him?”

Harry shook his head. “I’m an inch away from hating you. Don’t push me.”

Tears filled her eyes. “You shouldn’t say things like that.”

“You don’t get to have hurt feelings over this,” Harry said. He wasn’t even going to try to put on his heavy robes. “We gotta get out of here,” he muttered mostly to himself as he backed away from her. 

“Blaise locked us in,” Hermione reminded him miserably.

Harry didn’t have time for finesse. There were few pieces of magic he could confidently do while wandless with Draco’s magic, and that was only because Remus had them practice elemental magic for hours every day. He held one hand out and blasted fire towards the wood door.

“Harry!” Hermione shrieked, horrified. The door was ash. Fire licked the frame, seeking new nourishment but trapped against the stones.

Harry ignored her and stepped through the burning doorway.

*

Ron clicked the door shut gently behind him and tensed to see Pansy and Blaise arguing. “Weasley,” Blaise beamed, “Pansy is having trouble believing--”

Ron drew his wand. “Alarte Ascendare!”

Blaise was shot high into the air, nearly hitting the castle ceiling. He fell with a scream and a sickening crunch punctuated his landing. His ankle was turned in a strange angle. “Expelliarmus,” Ron added coldly. “Silencio.”

Pansy was impressed. 

Ron stepped closer to Blaise, careful to stay out of reach. “I don’t know what you did to Harry to get that information. I don’t trust you when you say you did nothing to Hermione. And saying all that shit to Malfoy in the way you did was straight-up cruel.” He knelt down so Blaise could more closely see his eyes, could see the depth of sincerity as he continued. “I’m done playing games. Stay away from us, or I will obliviate everything from your mind. Language, motor skills, bathroom training, _everything._ You’ll have to learn it all again as if you were an infant. Essentially, I’ll steal sixteen years off your life.” Blaise looked at him with murder in his eyes. “Stay away from us. Or I will come for you when you sleep.” Ron could see Blaise wasn’t ready to back down. He tossed Blaise’s wand to Pansy, who caught it skillfully. “If you don’t want it broken and your memory re-written to think you accidentally broke it yourself, then you’ll turn and leave as soon as I heal your ankle. Someone in your House can finite the Silencing Charm.” Ron concentrated and flicked his wand, and although it took a minute Blaise’s ankle returned into proper place with a few soft _pop!’_ s. Blaise gave a silent yelp at the reverberating pain. Ron rose. “Go. Now.”

Blaise slowly stood, snarling at Ron. Oh, he’d make sure Weasley paid for this. He stormed away, scheming his revenge.

“Wow,” Pansy said, smiling as she moved closer to Ron’s side. “That was incredible. You were like this fire-veined, great ginger minotaur.”

Ron grinned. “I dunno about all that,” he said with a little laugh. The way she was looking at him made him nervous for some reason. “Oh, I almost forgot,” he said quickly. He reached into his robe and drew her wand to return to her. When he had picked it up originally, it had been with Harry and Hermione’s. Holding it separately caused a warm pink glow to crown the tip. 

Both the purebloods were stunned. It was not often that a witch or wizard could get such a strong reaction from another’s wand. Ron felt his ears go red. He hadn’t even connected to Charlie’s old wand this well back when he had to use it for Year One. He thrust it mutely towards her.

“She likes you,” Pansy said softly, shocked. She took the wand and thought for a moment. Sliding it into her holster, she asked, “Might I see yours?”

Ron was too curious to say no, even though he had a feeling that perhaps it would be more prudent. He drew his wand again, embarrassed that it showed obvious signs of wear. His mother always nagged him to polish it properly but he just couldn’t be bothered. He swallowed hard and held his wand out in offering.

Pansy felt her heart speed up as she delicately took it. Tiny orange stars shot out the end, like a miniature firework. She handed it back to him, her eyes wide. “That’s never happened to me before,” she said quietly.

“Me neither,” Ron whispered. Why was he whispering?

“Our magic must work well together…”

“Yeah. Probably.”

A dozen questions came to mind, but Pansy shook her head to clear them. “I need to see Draco.” She stepped towards the door.

As she reached for the handle, Ron put his hand over hers. “Don’t,” he said hoarsely. 

“He needs me,” she said, her hand resting on the doorknob, unmoving. Ron’s hand was warm and rough over hers.

Ron cleared his throat. “Give him a minute. It was really bad in there. And he said he needed time to be alone.”

She pulled her hand away. “What happened?” 

He leaned his back against the door. “Harry betrayed him.” Ron’s eyes grew dark and angry.

Pansy sucked in a soft breath. “You believe that?”

“Zambini had proof.”

“Blaise will twist things around to make it look a certain way--”

“No,” Ron said. “Blaise knew the prophecy.”

Pansy stared at him. “As in…the one about Harry and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?”

“The very same.”

“Tell me what he said.”

Ron was glaring hard at the wall. His jaw tightened. “Apparently, there’s a line that says Harry’s supposed to have power that Voldemort doesn’t.” Pansy shuddered at the use of his name. Ron didn’t notice as he continued, “And Harry decided that means the Switch—that it means burning out all Malfoy’s magic to defeat him.”

Pansy paled. “…Burning out…?”

Ron scuffed a toe against the stones. “Yep. It’s exactly as it sounds. Harry’s big plan is to turn Malfoy into a muggle.” He turned his face to look at her. She looked gutted. “Malfoy doesn’t want to see Harry, so I promised I’d stand guard. Join me?”

Silently, Pansy stepped closer and leaned her back against the door. 

The two waited.

*

Harry rushed down the halls and to his annoyance, Hermione followed. 

“Will you just go?!” Harry hissed at her.

“If Blaise is still there, you’ll need me.”

Harry gave a bitter laugh. “It’s not likely he will be, since you delayed us for so long.”

The pair hurried on and came to a skidding stop when they saw Ron and Pansy standing outside the door. “Is Draco in there?” Harry asked.

“Yes,” Ron said, drawing his wand. Pansy had hers out as well.

Harry started forward and both Ron and Pansy lifted their wands in unison. Harry stopped. “Guys, stop messing around. I have to talk to him.” Neither of them responded. Harry growled. “Ron, are you Charmed or something?!”

“He’s not,” Pansy said. 

“Malfoy doesn’t wanna see you,” Ron added. 

“I get it, he’s mad,” Harry began. “But I have to talk to him.”

“Have you ever considered you might not get your way?” Ron said scathingly. “The Boy Who Lived, The Chosen One, our great leader—it’s time we start questioning you.”

“What are you talking about?” Harry asked incredulously. “I never asked for any of that.”

“But you got it,” Ron said. “We risk our lives for you. Hell—last year, we dropped everything to invade our own government office, break into its most covert department, and go into combat against Death Eaters--all because you had a vision.” Ron didn’t care that he shouldn’t be talking about this in the open halls. He was too angry. “Ginny broke her ankle and was knocked unconscious. Neville was crucio’d. Sirius died. I almost lost my sanity,” he lifted the sleeve of his left arm, revealing long purple scars that would never heal. “And Hermione was cursed so badly she needed ten potions a day for two weeks to recover.”

“Why are you bringing up--”

“Because you lied to us,” Ron snarled. “We risked everything for you. And you told us the prophecy was destroyed. But you somehow managed to learn what it was, and you didn’t tell us.”

Harry’s shoulders dropped. “I was protecting you,” he said quietly, ashamed.

“We shed blood for that prophecy, we earned the right to know it was saved. But you just make these decisions on your own, better than all of us, so certain you’re making the right call and not caring what that does to the rest of us when we find out.”

“I didn’t mean--”

“Spare me your good intentions,” Ron spat. “It was wrong. And what you decided about the Switch is fucking wrong, too.”

Quietly, firmly, Harry said: “That’s between me and Draco.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Ron said mockingly. “Gee, how come you’ve kept it to yourself for so long when you Know it should be between you and him?”

Harry wanted to strangle Ron. “Will you just get out of my way?! I have to make this right with him.”

“He said he doesn’t want to see you right now, so you’re gonna take two goddamn seconds to think about what he wants and respect that.” Ron reached into his cloak and drew Hermione’s wand. He handed it to her, never taking his eyes off Harry. “Let’s go back to Gryffindor, you me and Mione.”

“Actually,” Hermione said quietly, “Harry should go to Madam Pomfrey’s.”

“Shut up,” Harry growled under his breath.

Ron looked at Harry with concern instead of anger. “What happened?”

“I’m fine.”

Hermione shook her head sadly. “I don’t think that’s ever been true…”

“ _Hermione!_ ” Harry’s hands clenched. He glared at her, willing her to be silent.

“If it’s just the welts, we can heal those for you,” she said. “But you have to tell us if anything else happened.”

Ron noticed the tie wrapped around his arm, how his shirt was half undone.

“No, nothing.”

Hermione looked at him uneasily, pity greased across her face. “You couldn’t sit,” she whispered.

Harry flushed at the implication. “Not—because of that,” he muttered. “The welts go down. That’s all.”

Ron shook his head. “I knew that bastard must’ve done something. I’m sorry--I should’ve asked right away.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Harry said. An idea came to him. He tried to look apologetic. “You were right, what you said before. I’ve been making decisions on my own when I should be talking to the people involved.” He paused. “I’ll tell you everything about the prophecy. But not in the hallway—the portraits are listening.” He nodded towards one of the frames, and two painted crones pretended they weren’t paying attention.

“Alright,” Ron said. “Let’s go get the others.”

“Let me tell you guys first,” Harry insisted. “I’d like to include Pansy on this.” She was watching him distrustfully. Ron’s eyes narrowed. “If I’m going to be open with all of you, then I can’t pick and choose between us, right?” Ron’s shoulders relaxed. Harry continued, “And afterwards, she can stay here and we’ll go back to Gryffindor and get Neville and Ginny.”

“And then find Luna,” Ron said.

“Yeah, of course.”

Ron nodded. “Okay.”

There was another classroom opposite the Dynamics Room. Harry moved to it and held the door open invitingly. “Hermione, I know you just heard this, but you should join too.”

“Wait, what do you mean, she just heard it?” Ron asked as the girls began walking.

Harry did his best to hide his outrage and explained, “Blaise forced me to tell her my secrets to stall for time while he came here.” Hermione had the good grace to avoid his eyes in shame that he would protect her and not relay how she betrayed him. She went into the classroom. 

Pansy followed.

Ron approached the door and hesitated, suspicious. “After you,” he said to Harry, meeting his eyes in challenge.

Harry realized Ron was onto him. Summoning a powerful wind, Harry used air elemental magic to push Ron inside. Harry slammed the door shut and used fire to melt the metal knob and lock into a solid form with the wall. His friends were bellowing behind the door, trying to figure out why ‘Alohomora’ wasn’t working and demanding release. Harry backed away and went into the Dynamics Room.

Draco raised his head from his arms, his eyes red-rimmed and swollen. Harry walked slowly towards him, his heart beating fast. “I’m so sorry,” Harry said achingly.

A sardonic smile pulled Draco’s mouth as fresh tears fell. His voice came out rough: “I suppose that fixes everything, then.”

“Not even close,” Harry said as he stood in front of Draco. “What did he tell you?”

“What didn’t you tell me?” Draco shot. He stood from the desk, unwilling to have Harry tower over him. 

Harry cringed. “…You and I both thought it could be the Switch,” he tried weakly defending.

“Not to that extent,” Draco snapped. “I never thought you’d burn away my magic.”

“It’s not something I’d want to do!”

“Then don’t.”

Harry looked away. “It’s not that simple,” he whispered, hating himself. “If everything else fails—if it’s the only thing that could stop Voldemort—how can I not?”

Draco took a shuddering breath. Hot tears streaked his face. He whispered, “You know what that would do to me.”

Harry looked up at him. “I’d help you get through it.”

“Harry.”

“I’d search the world and beyond the veil to find a way to restore your magic. There has to be a way.”

“Harry, it would kill me.” 

Harry’s lips trembled. He shook his head. 

Draco pressed on, “You know that. It’s why you couldn’t tell me.” Harry was silent. “How could you ever consider it?”

“I need you to understand,” Harry begged. “Do I allow genocide against countless muggles and muggleborns and the incapacitation of magic itself, or do I sacrifice the magic of one person? If it boils down to that equation, what choice do I have?” 

“But this isn’t some hypothetical unknown someone, this is me, my magic. Does that make a difference to you?”

“Of course it does!”

“Then prove it.”

Harry shook his head. He couldn’t promise to damn the world, even if there was no world for him without Draco in it. “We might be arguing about something that won’t ever come to pass…”

“You believe it will though.”

“…I don’t know what I believe.” Harry could see the lightning in Draco’s green eyes, the threat of striking too close. An idea clicked. Harry’s eyes widened and his jaw fell open at the absolute perfection of it. “I know a way,” he said, slowly starting to smile. He stepped toward Draco, and was pained to see him step back. Harry stopped. “I can swear, I can make an unbreakable vow if you want it—with one condition.” He watched Draco intently. “I will never burn out your magic, if you promise to be ready to burn out mine.”

“What?” Draco exhaled, his entire chest aching.

“If the only options are to use the Switch’s greatest power or lose the war, you have to use up every hint of magic in me.”

“Harry, I can’t do to you what I could never accept happening to me!”

“You’ll have to,” Harry said. “I lived more than half my life as a muggle, I can do it again. I won’t lie, I’ll hate it, but I can do it. I can be okay in that life.”

Draco shook his head quickly, desperate to drive this idea out. “Your stupid plan is for me to go fight the Dark Lord myself?!”

“Ironically, it would be safer for you,” Harry said gently. “He could hurt you, but he couldn’t kill you. If you took a direct hit from the Killing Curse, you’d simply be returned to your body and I would be the one to die. It’s perfect.”

“That’s not perfect!” Draco hissed.

“I can keep your magic intact, keep you alive, and we keep the Switch’s weapon as a possibility. I call that perfect.”

Draco saw they couldn’t afford to ignore the potential of this weapon if Harry was willing to sacrifice his magic to use it. But the idea of crippling Harry intentionally made Draco utterly sick. “You can’t ask me to do this...”

“You wanted me to prove it, to show that there’s a distinction between you and any other hypothetical person in the world.” Harry looked at him with warmth and sincerity. “There is no one in the world I would become a muggle for -- except you. You are my magic, Draco Malfoy.”

Draco’s eyes softened. He stepped closer to Harry and took his hand, and whispered, “I don’t know if I could do it.” 

Harry squeezed his hand tightly. “If you have to, you can. You know how to make hard decisions, you calculate them all the time. I trust you to do it.” Harry could see guilt and acceptance wrestle in Draco’s eyes. “If you spare my magic, you could be killing thousands of people. You could be damaging or even destroying the way magic works. Including mine, including yours.” He felt Draco’s fingers tighten against his. Harry teased, “You wouldn’t play chess that way, would you?”

“No,” he admitted reluctantly. A tiny smile peeked around his mouth as he said, “Does that make you my queen?”

Harry laughed, and then Draco laughed. Relief that they seemed to be okay flooded through both of them. Draco released Harry’s hand and hugged him—but the moment his arms pressed against his back, Harry cried out and sagged against him. Draco quickly pulled away. “Let me see.”

“It’s nothing…”

“Harry. Let me see.”

Harry sighed. “Help me with this,” he said, holding his arm with the tie knotted around it. Draco eased the tension out of the fabric and worked the silk through itself. The shirt underneath was stained with blood. 

Harry undid the few buttons he’d managed to connect before. As the shirt slid from his shoulders, Draco noticed the purple bruise at the base of his throat. The sight of it made his heart contract painfully. Draco drew his fingertips across the mark and Harry lowered his gaze in shame. “Tell me. How far did he take it?”

Harry looked up at him, deeply uncomfortable. “He didn’t…you know,” Harry floundered. 

“Just tell me what happened,” Draco said gently, worried.

Harry didn’t understand why Draco would want to know details. Couldn’t they just pretend it didn’t happen? “Kissing, mostly,” he mumbled. “He groped me but it didn’t go further than that.” 

Draco saw the internal judgement darken his eyes. “It’s not your fault,” he said. “It doesn’t matter if he made you like it. You can’t be angry at yourself.”

Harry felt a keening desperation rip through him, something that yearned for forgiveness and screamed to strike out in self-punishment. “I know,” he said. He didn’t want to argue.

Draco couldn’t help but glance at that bruise again. Hatred bubbled and cracked across his skin as he thought about Blaise violating Harry’s perceptions and forcing himself on him. “Let’s see your back,” he said. 

Harry turned.

Draco wasn’t sure what he expected, but it wasn’t this. Crusted crimson and swollen purple welts raked across every inch of his back, reaching under the waistline of his trousers. “…Where do these end?”

“My knees.”

Draco felt a deep quiet as rage whipped hard around him. 

Nervous at Draco’s silence, Harry reassured him, “It’s not as bad as it looks.”

“I could kill him,” Draco said. He was so close to meaning it literally; it scared him.

Harry smiled and turned to face him. “As long as you and I are okay, he can’t really hurt me.”

Draco kissed him long and slow. Harry wrapped his arms around Draco, and Draco felt him tremble. All the adrenaline washed out of Harry at once, and he had seldom felt so exhausted. 

Harry pulled back. “I kind of locked up our friends,” he admitted. “I should go let them out.” He explained how he melted the locking chamber into the doorframe. “I’m not entirely sure how to undo it.”

“Leave it to me,” Draco said. “You get undressed. I’ll bring Ron in here to heal you. Then we’ll let the girls in and get everyone up to speed.”

Harry nodded, but he dreaded every word. He had a lot to apologize to Ron and Pansy for, and he was still furious with Hermione. _Oh god—what if Hermione was in there right now telling them what she learned about the Dursleys?_ Harry felt his stomach drop. He wanted nothing more than to curl up in the dark in his cupboard. Sighing, he steeled himself for confrontation.

*

“You gaping sour cunt!” Ron yelled through the door as he pounded his fist against it. 

“Ron, stop it already,” Hermione complained.

“Stop?!” Ron shot her a dirty look and kicked the door for good measure. “Harry faked an apology and played on our trust to lock us up. He doesn’t give a damn. He’s a manipulative little berk,” he kicked the door harder, with a satisfying thud that made the ball of his foot ache, “And he should have stayed Sorted Slytherin!”

Having been quiet until now, Pansy looked up and asked, “Stayed Sorted Slytherin?”

Ron huffed and began pacing, trying to work out the anger from his limbs. “Yeah. The Hat wanted him in Slytherin but he begged it off.”

Pansy was shocked. “If Harry had gone to Slytherin,” she began thoughtfully, “We would have been convinced he was the next Dark Lord.”

Ron paused in his pacing and smirked at her. “Seriously?”

“Oh yes,” she said. “I mean, that was the gossip for so long while he was hidden from the wizarding world. He defeated You-Know-Who using powerful, mysterious magic, and no one knew what happened…if Harry had gone to Slytherin he would have had an army of followers.”

“But would he have had friends?” Hermione asked quietly.

“Knowing Harry, yes,” Pansy said quietly, hoping she would have been one of them. Despair rose like smoke within her. “I don’t understand how he could sacrifice Draco’s magic…” Tears glittered against her lashes. “It can’t just be that. It can’t. There has to be more that we don’t know…”

Ron snorted. “I’m sure there’s a lot we don’t know.” His eyes widened and he turned to Hermione. “But he just told you everything, didn’t he?”

“Don’t look at me like that. I can’t repeat it.”

“Well, obviously not his personal shit,” Ron said rolling his eyes. “Just share any war stuff we ought to know.”

“Ron, most of what he said was about his family,” she explained. She thought, _I’ll keep his personal secrets safe from our friends…and I will report his home life to muggle social workers._

Pansy gathered her courage and asked in a tight voice, “The things he told you…was it all stuff about him? Or *any* secret he knew?”

Hermione gave her a meaningful look and smiled. “Any secret—even the good ones.”

Pansy folded her arms protectively across her chest, mortified— _she knew about the baby._

Ron didn’t understand what they were talking about, but he had no intention of digging around Harry’s privacy. “Did he tell you anything war related? He doesn’t have the right to keep that from us.”

Hermione hesitated.

“Mione,” Ron growled warningly. She burst into tears. Pansy was at her side in a flash, rubbing her back comfortingly and glaring at Ron.

“He’s so mad at me,” Hermione said as she hugged Pansy and cried into her shoulder.

“Weasley’s just mad at everything right now,” Pansy said.

“No, not Ron—Harry!” Hermione sniffed and pulled herself together, sitting up. She rubbed at her eyes, willing herself to stop crying as the tears ignored her and kept streaking. 

“Why the hell would Harry be mad at you!?” Ron demanded. “It’s not your fault Blaise cursed him or charmed him or whatever into telling you that stuff!”

“Actually…” Hermione sniffed. She confessed what Blaise had really done, and how it was her choice that compelled Harry to reveal everything he wanted kept secret.

For the first time, she couldn’t read the look on Ron’s face. He shook his head. “I thought you were better than that.”

Hermione involuntarily sucked in a huge breath of air, feeling her guilt evaporate in a dense cloud of self-defense. “You weren’t there,” she said hotly. “You didn’t hear what his home’s really like!”

“Everyone has personal stuff they don’t wanna talk about.”

“Not like this,” Hermione insisted. “He isn’t safe.”

“You’re overreacting,” Ron said. Hermione gaped at him, outraged. “He’d tell us if it was really bad.”

“Obviously he wouldn’t!” Hermione yelled, “Because it is that bad!”

Ron shook his head. “Harry’s tough. And a family with two boys is different than growing up a girl in an only child home. Maybe what looks bad to you is just normal guy stuff.” Hermione couldn’t believe he was patronizing her like this. “My brothers used to do terrible things to me when I was younger. And if I had a younger brother I’d do terrible shit to him too. It’s just how guys are.”

The door creaked open and Draco stepped inside.

“Are you okay?”   
“Did you two break up?”   
“He had an explanation right?” 

All three friends were talking over each other asking questions. Draco held his hands up. “Guys,” he said, trying to quiet them. “Everything’s okay. We’re okay. We’ll tell you everything in a minute.” He looked at Ron. “But first, we need you to cast some healing spells.”

Ron silently went to his side, without a second glance at the girls.

“We’ll let you know when we’re ready,” Draco added as he and Ron left. He turned to Ron. “Hey…Thanks for guarding my door.”

Ron looked at the ground, embarrassed. “Fat lot of good that did.”

“Harry defeated The Dark Lord when he was a baby. I wouldn’t expect you to beat him.” He nudged Ron good naturedly in the ribs. Ron half-smiled but remained tense. “Look. The success or lack thereof doesn’t matter in this case. What matters is that you defended me.”

Ron smiled genuinely this time. “Just don’t send me anymore bloody Thank You letters and we’ll call it even.”

“Don’t worry Weasley—I’ll prepare a silk banner embroidered with a sonnet of gratitude, composed in iambic pentameter…Enchanted to sing its praises to you every night.”

“I will murder you.”

The two laughed and crossed the hall. Draco put his hand on the doorknob to the Dynamics Room, but hesitated. He looked at Ron solemnly. “It’s bad,” he warned. 

Ron’s lips tightened. “I figured.”

Draco nodded and opened the door. Harry stood in the middle of the room, naked, nervously holding his shirt at his waist as a make-shift modesty panel. Ron and Draco quickly stepped inside and closed the door. Draco walked to Harry’s side, but Ron remained near the door. Ron glared at Harry. “That little stunt you pulled to lock us up was one of the shittiest things I’ve seen you do.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry said. “I meant what I said—I really will tell you about the prophecy. I just had to talk to Draco before…” Harry stopped. He didn’t know how to express it, but he knew it had been imperative to reach Draco while his anger and pain were still molten—if Harry had given him space and time, all those feelings would have solidified, and Harry would never have been able to reach through to him. Unable to verbalize his need, he simply said, “…I’m sorry I tricked you.”

Ron watched him, wondering whether to believe him or not. “You’ll tell us about the prophecy. And you’ll tell us anything else war-related.” Harry and Draco shared a look. “If he knows,” Ron said, trying to keep his anger in control, “Then we should know too.”

“Have you forgotten you’re here to heal your friend?” Draco was annoyed that Ron would start brow-beating Harry when he was brought in to help.

“It’s alright,” Harry said quickly, seeing the sparks sputtering off Ron. “Hermione knows, after Blaise’s game. I’ll tell you.”

“Blaise’s game?” Draco asked quietly, reaching out to touch Harry’s elbow.

Harry closed his eyes. He turned his face to look at Draco. “He needed to stall us while he came to find you. So he forced me to admit my secrets.”

Draco’s eyes widened. He knew how desperately Harry never wanted to discuss the Dursleys with his friends. “All of them?” He asked, irrationally hoping Harry had somehow broken free in time.

“All of them.”

Draco leaned his forehead against Harry’s and closed his eyes. Harry wanted to wrap his arms around him and forget the rest of the world existed. He sighed and drew back. 

Harry met Ron’s gaze. “I’ll tell you the prophecy when the girls are here,” he said. “As for the rest…It boils down to one word. Horcrux.” He explained how they were created, what they were, and the theory that Voldemort has several—including the Diary—including himself.

Ron paled. “You think you--?”

“Harbour a piece of his soul? Yeah,” Harry said bitterly. “It’s why I have the scar. It’s how I can see through his eyes and have visions about what he’s doing. It’s how he could possess me last year at the Battle at the Ministry.”

“Pansy can’t know,” Draco said. “With the Switch—I’m the Horcrux now. And that would terrify her.”

Ron moaned. “I’m such a hypocrite--Ginny can’t know either,” he said, shaking his head. “After everything she went through with the Diary…”

“I know. It’s why I didn’t want to tell you—I knew you’d reach the same thought, and I didn’t want to put you in the position of keeping it from her.”

Ron looked at Draco, then back to Harry. “What do we do if it wakes up?”

“Petrify me and leave me in the Room of Requirement until you figure out how to make it sleep again,” Draco said sternly. “Do not let me leave this castle. If it takes over, my family is in danger.”

“That’s a tall order,” Ron said thoughtfully. “Harry could bust out of a Petrify hex using the Switch…” 

“Then club me over the head until I’m unconscious,” Draco said disdainfully. “I don’t care how you do it, just get it done.”

Ron grinned. “I volunteer to beat you up. As a favour to you, of course.”

“What a gentleman.”

Harry smiled. He wanted to hold Draco’s hand, but he couldn’t drop one end of the shirt without embarrassing himself. Keeping hold of the fabric, Harry lifted his little finger and brushed it against Draco’s hand. Draco looked down and smiled. He turned his hand and hooked his little finger around Harry’s. 

A pang of jealousy fell far through Ron. He was used to being the only one Harry let close to him; even Hermione wasn’t as close as they were. Ron could no longer deny that this thing with Malfoy was real. He took out his wand and approached them. “Alright, let’s get to work,” he said. 

Harry twisted his right forearm so it exposed the long slit he had cut without having to let go of his button-up. Ron smirked at the irrationality, he wanted to say _We’re all blokes you can drop the damn shirt already!_ , but he knew saying that would just freak Harry out. He’d always been stupidly shy about nudity--

Ron took a sharp inhale as he connected Harry’s behaviour to what Hermione said about his home life being dangerous. He’d known Harry wasn’t happy with the Dursleys, had known they didn’t like magic, but…surely they weren’t monsters? “Harry,” he said softly. “If something were truly bad at home, would you tell us?”

Harry’s knee-jerk reaction was to insist it was fine. But with everything Hermione knew, with the way Ron was looking at him now, Harry understood that wouldn’t work anymore. _What did Hermione tell you?_ Harry wondered. He swallowed. “If. If anything were all that bad, I’d get out. And if I couldn’t--how could I explain that?”

Ron felt his heart speed up. “You’re a minor, no one’s expecting you to explain why you’ve had to stay with your legal guardians. If it’s been bad and you couldn’t get out, the blame isn’t yours.”

Harry shook his head hard. “I can’t,” he said, “I really can’t talk about this.”

Ron saw an intense fear in his friend’s eyes. It shocked him that such surface admissions could unravel Harry so quickly. 

“Okay,” Ron whispered. He aimed his wand at Harry’s arm and the cut drew in on itself as new skin stitched across. Once healed, he flicked his wand at Harry’s throat, banishing the bruise quickly. “Turn around.”

Harry looked at the floor, hesitating. _It shouldn’t be a big deal,_ Ron thought with dark suspicion. After a brief moment steeling himself, Harry turned.

Ron’s eyes widened as he took in the violence mapped across his friend’s skin. “How are you still upright?!” He asked, unable to imagine how painful moving must be.

Draco saw tension radiating off Harry, saw the effort it took to remain still under intimate inspection. He moved to stand in front of Harry and pressed his body against him, arms reaching carefully around his neck, letting his face peer over Harry’s shoulder. The shirt trapped between their bodies, Harry let go and wrapped his arms around Draco’s waist. Harry held him like a child in the dark with nothing but a bear to keep him safe.

“I don’t even know where to start,” Ron admitted, overwhelmed by the number of welts and how they crisscrossed each other.

Draco smiled sadly. “Here,” he said, his voice husky. “Start by his shoulders so I can hold him better.”

Ron raised his wand. It was slower work to heal the welts, as Ron discovered their impact had been hard enough to damage deeper tissue. He grimaced as he thought about how fast those with training could perform healing spells. He wished he were more adept at this. Really, it ought to be Hermione in here, she’d have this done in the blink of an eye—okay, maybe two blinks—but Harry would rather let his body heal on its own than have Hermione see him undressed.

Ron realized this wasn’t just a funny quirk of Harry’s. There was something wrong.

When he had finished healing Harry’s upper back, Draco let his arms draw down and hug him at the shoulder blades. 

The sound of lips meeting skin startled Ron and he looked up. Draco strung pearl kisses across Harry’s shoulder, slow movements cherishing and pressing protection into him. Ron felt strangely humbled and continued his work.

Ron finished healing Harry’s back and lowered his wand to begin on the welts across his buttocks. Harry tensed and hid his face in the crook of Draco’s neck, pressing himself harder against him just to move incrementally away from Ron. Harry felt his heart pound in apprehension, heard a rushing sound building at his temples. “I hate this,” he whispered. A tremor shot through him.

“It’s almost over,” Draco reassured him, running one hand soothingly up his back.

Ron knelt on one knee so he could better see the wounds that curved under Harry’s buttocks. Sensing the movement, Harry jerked his head up and turned to look at him over one shoulder. “Don’t,” he hissed. Blood rushed and heated his face.

Ron grinned and said teasingly, “I have to _see_ if I’m gonna get anything done.” Harry’s brows drew close, anxiety etching lines around his eyes. He buried his face back into hiding. 

As Ron began healing the welts across Harry’s thighs, he saw one of them snaked inward. “Move your legs open.”

“—What?”

“Yeah Weasley, that’s my line!” Draco joked.

Between Draco trying to diffuse the tension and Ron thinking he had been handling things so casually, neither of them were helping. Harry’s blood ran cold. 

“One of the welts got you right here--” Ron let his wand tap at Harry’s leg and Harry cringed away from him, his hands clawing into Draco’s back.

“Hey,” Draco said. “You’re okay. It’s okay.”

“—and it goes around. I need you to lift your leg so I can get in there--”

“No,” Harry said firmly. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine, you stupid sod, that’s why I’m doing this.”

Feeling Harry tremble against him, Draco said, “It’s one cut, leave it alone.”

“It’ll scar.”

Harry knew how much Draco hated scars. Even in their detention right before they Switched, Draco had been so prissy that Harry heal him perfectly against any scarring. He swallowed the nettles burred in his throat and moved his leg, exposing himself.

“Don’t make it hard on me, mate. Move a little more.”

Harry obliged. Draco felt his shirt dampen and realized Harry was silently crying.

“Finished,” Ron said as he stood up.

Draco quickly slipped his robe off and wrapped it around Harry’s shoulders. Harry couldn’t look at him. Draco simply hugged him close and spoke over his shoulder to Ron: “Why don’t you go check in on the girls, give us a minute, let Harry get dressed, and we’ll come join you soon.”

“Yeah,” Ron said uncertainly. “Sure thing.” It was obvious Harry wasn’t okay. He wanted to say something—but he had no idea what. He frowned at Draco, and mouthed, “What happened?”

Draco mouthed back, “I don’t know.”

The look of concern in his eyes made Ron believe him.

“Okay…We’ll see you in a bit then,” Ron said lamely as he left.

“Sorry,” Harry muttered, pulling away from Draco and swiping quickly at his eyes. He picked up his clothes and started getting dressed.

“What fairy circle did you step through?” Draco asked disbelievingly.

“Huh?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “It means what crazy other world have you landed yourself in? Why do you think you need to apologize?”

“I should have held it together.” 

“Should is a terrible word,” Draco said imperially, his nose raising slightly. “It’s a negative that reinforces a perceived failure, and leaves you feeling lesser.” Draco raised his eyebrows. “You are _not_ lesser.”

Harry said nothing, just focused on zippers and buttons. It was calming. Both boys were silent while Harry finished dressing. 

Harry held Draco’s robe out to him. Draco stared at him and said, “Are you seriously not going to tell me what freaked you out so much?” 

Harry tensed. “I just don’t like people looking at me.” Draco raised an eyebrow in exasperated impatience. Harry grit his teeth and tried to explain. “Blaise made me strip and stared at me, slowly looking me over like something he owned. That right there nearly broke me but I held on. Then I was forced to tell Hermione everything during our little Confessional, including the main reason I don’t like being starkers around people. So both those experiences were fresh in my head when Ron had to heal me. He was so close, and staring – it was too much. I couldn’t handle it.” He shuddered. “That’s why I freaked out. Please leave it at that.”

Draco hated being shut out, and tried to convince Harry to include him. “Lupin said we need to know what our bodies have been through to properly connect to our magic.”

“My body didn’t experience any trauma. You don’t need to know.”

Harry was wrong. Draco did need to know, because he couldn’t stand the idea that Harry was comfortable keeping any distance between them. Draco stepped forward and took the robe. “I’m worried about you, and I don’t like you keeping things from me. But I’ll try to be patient and let you tell me in your own time.”

_He expects to know,_ Harry thought. _Fuck._ He shook his head. “Can you just accept not knowing?”

Draco smirked. “You’re asking the guy who manipulated Headmistress Umbridge into letting him build an Inquisitorial Squad just to figure out what you were up to.”

Harry snorted. “That’s true.” Harry took a deep breath, thinking about his options. He’d rather get this over with than have it dangle over him. Before he could talk himself out of it, he slid into a chair and said, “Sit. I’ll tell you.”

“You don’t have to tell me right now if you need time,” Draco purred as he eagerly sat down in expectation.

Harry could almost laugh at how hard Draco was trying to be sensitive when his curiosity was so palpable. “Don’t give me the option if you’d kill me for taking it,” he teased. Draco smiled self-abashedly. “That’s what I thought,” Harry said. Holding tight to his resolve by bruised fingertips, Harry said, “The whole ‘looking’ thing—I guess I’ve always been self-conscious. I know I’m too skinny. I’m smaller-framed than most girls, and that’s just weird. Plus, I’m used to being hyper-aware of any marks from the Dursleys that need covering. So I’ve always had a bit of a thing about being looked at too closely.” He tried to smile, to normalize what he was saying. He faltered, and the smile fell. “It wasn’t until two summers ago that things got worse.” 

Draco tensed. Two summers ago—the summer after his father had been summoned to the graveyard. When Voldemort returned to corporeal form. Harry understood the recognition in Draco’s eyes, and he nodded. “Seeing Cedric killed really wrecked me. I’d get night terrors about it every time I fell asleep. They’d be so intense, and so real-seeming, that I’d cry out his name…and that got misinterpreted real fast.” He looked away, remembering. “My uncle heard me one night. He dragged me out of bed by my hair and threw me down the stairs.” Harry’s memory replayed the fearful sound of his uncle’s heavy footsteps, unhurried as the man descended the stairs to retrieve him. “I scrambled to get up—he doesn’t like me laying on the ground unless I’m told to stay down. I thought he was mad cuz I woke him up. I was such an idiot…” He looked back at Draco. “He came down and got me, and yanked me by the hair into the kitchen. He told me to kneel.” _Get on your knees, boy,_ Uncle Vernon growled in memory. Harry felt his stomach flip. “He poured hot sauce in my mouth. And not just a little, I mean gobs of it. He wrapped his hands over my lips and around the back of my head.” Harry remembered his uncle’s huge hands covering half his face, the searing heat that enflamed his mouth. He had choked and gagged, and the spice tore his throat, pinched his sinuses, and pushed tears down his face. No matter how he struggled, he couldn’t rise from the floor or escape his uncle’s strong grip. “He waited until the pain became intolerable and then he started whispering to me. ‘Burn the names of men off your tongue. If I hear you moaning a man’s name again, I’ll have your tongue split like the demon you are. You won’t be speaking at all for weeks. It’s bad enough we’re cursed with having a freak in our house, I will not abide having your perversions run rampant’.” Harry shrugged. “He was still furious the next morning--”

“Oh no you don’t,” Draco interrupted, “Don’t blow right past this like it was no big deal. He wanted to split your tongue?”

“It would have healed back together.”

“That’s not the point!”

“Of course it is,” Harry said. “The Dursleys will never do something permanent, something the neighbours would notice.”

“Your uncle wanted to mutilate you.”

“But imagine what it would have done for my Parseltongue,” Harry said with a cheeky grin.

“Don’t joke. Don’t act like it's unimportant.”

Harry floundered. “I don’t know how else to talk about it,” he said quietly. 

Draco frowned. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I know this is hard for you. Keep going.”

Harry thought for a moment, regaining where he was in his retelling. “Right…well, the next day, Uncle Vernon wasn’t about to let it go. He started calling me sissy and fairy, which delighted Dudley who copied him instantly. Aunt Petunia was mortified and ignored the entire thing. But Dudley,” Harry’s voice began to harden, “asked his dad to tell him what happened.” _Caught the little freak wailing for cock in the middle of the night,_ Vernon had said. _Mark my words, we’re doing this Cedric bloke a favour._

“That night, Dudley snuck into my room,” Harry said, becoming quieter. “He sat on my chest and woke me up. It’s funny, I remember waking up and being really confused, because he was holding a lit cigarette loosely in his mouth. It was so surreal. I’d never seen him smoke, probably because his mother would cry for days if she knew. But there he was. Smoking. And I remember half-asleep wondering to myself, is he trying to burn the names of men from his tongue?” He shook his head. “So he wakes me up and says, ‘Who’s Cedric, your boyfriend?’ I’m mad because I haven’t eaten in four days and all I want to do is sleep. So I snark at him, ‘No, Cedric was a friend, and he was killed right in front of me.’ And Dudley takes his cigarette out and burns my shoulder. Right there,” Harry presses gently on Draco’s left shoulder. 

“You told me you got those from arguing with your cousin.”

“Oh, we argued,” Harry said. “He wanted me affirm the things his dad said. I told him it was bullshit. So he burned me every time I ‘lied’ about who Cedric was until I was finally so exhausted and in pain that I started making up stories to placate him.”

Draco looked down at his left hand, the scars bright: I must not tell lies. 

“I mean, what’s true about me, my identity—that stuff isn’t important. So why was I going through so much pain for it?” 

“Both your identity and physical safety are fucking important,” Draco argued. “It’s understandable why you fought, it’s understandable why you stopped.” 

Harry shifted in his seat, uncomfortable with Draco’s statement. “I ended up pretending Cedric and I had dated all year and that he broke up with me just before summer. When Dudley finally left me alone, I couldn’t sleep, I just kept thinking Here is yet another way I failed Cedric. I used him to save myself. It made me sick.”

"I think he'd only be mad if you hadn't," Draco said.

“Maybe,” Harry said, still unsure. He grit his teeth and continued. “After getting me to ‘admit everything’, Dudley discovered there was something he enjoyed more than beating me up: humiliating me.” His shoulders tensed. “The next day, Aunt Petunia offers me toast and Dudley throws a fit and convinces her I shouldn’t eat. That night he snuck into my room again, but this time I was awake.” His lip curled in disgust. “He says, ‘You look hungry’, and I badly wanted to curse him. But of course, I can’t. So I just sit up and tell him to get the hell out of my room.” Harry stopped. Shame gripped him and wrung the anger out of him until he was left feeling twisted and worn. In a hollow voice he said, “He held something behind his back.” Oh, how those words defeated him… “He starts walking closer to me so I leap out of bed, and he smiles at me, and I’m flashing back to the way Voldemort grinned at me in the graveyard when he could touch my scar, and I’m flooded with fear and I just stand there--” He’d begun talking too fast, his breath see-sawing through his lungs. He stopped and willed himself to speak normally. “—and he says, ‘I brought you something’. This, from the kid who never gave me anything in my life. So I’m instantly like, ‘I don’t want it’, because I know it can’t be good.” His voice shrunk. “And he holds out food.” His shoulders pulled inward. 

Harry couldn’t speak. How could he possibly say what happened next, when it could change the way Draco saw him? His lip trembled. “I need you to know what that meant,” he said. “The Dursleys have a lock on the pantry, the fridge, the freezer. Each of them have keys of course, but when they choose to starve me, I literally have nothing but toothpaste to eat. And that’s such a bad idea, by the way. Major stomach cramps later.” He stopped himself from seguing into a story about the one time he tried to steal a butterscotch candy from his aunt’s purse and how she had whipped him with the vacuum cord for it. “I was so hungry.”

Harry was silent for a long time. Draco prodded, “What did he want?”

Heat crept up Harry’s neck and face as shame burned him. “…He held out a carrot, and told me I could eat however much of it I could fuck myself with.” He remembered the arrogance his cousin exuded as he delivered worse pain with less effort than any beating ever had. “I wish I could say I refused longer than I did. But all he’s ever had to do was raise his voice and Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon would agree to anything he’s wanted. And if his interest had turned to what I eat…I knew I was in trouble.” He shook his head. “Soon, after arguing all too briefly, I was undressing.” Dudley jeered and taunted him, and Harry had never hated himself more. “The entire time I was, you know, doing what he wanted--he laughed at me. He thought it was the funniest thing in the world. And he watched me more intently than he’d looked at anything.” Dudley wouldn’t just laugh; he’d give constant commentary on how pathetic Harry was to whore for food.

“Was it the once?” Draco asked, but he could tell the answer by the way Harry’s shoulders tightened.

“No.”

“Three muggles, two words, one answer,” Draco said. “Avada Kedevra.”

“No,” Harry said firmly, his eyes flashing. “I told you before.”

“Is there some kind of muggle-Auror department you could contact?”

Harry smiled. “The police? Sure, okay.” Draco’s eyes narrowed suspiciously; _that was too easy._ “Just as soon as you turn over your Aunt Bellatrix to the Ministry.”

“She’s never hurt me.”

“And the Dursleys haven’t killed anyone.”

“Yet.”

The word was a punch to the stomach. Harry’s eyes grew round, and Draco quickly embraced him, murmuring kind words in his ear while secretly plotting how to deal with the Dursley problem.

*

Ron stepped into the classroom contrite and thoughtful. “Hermione, I’m sorry,” he said. “I think you might have been right to do what you did.”

“I know I was,” Hermione said rather ungraciously. She put her hands on her hips. “What bothers me is neither of you could give me the benefit of a doubt.”

“You’re right.” He paused. “On a scale of one to ten, how worried should I be about him?”

“Twenty eight.”

Ron felt a flash of frustration. _What the hell was wrong with Harry that he could let things get so bad and not say anything?!_ “So what do we do?”

Hermione let her hands slide down and in a kinder voice she said, “He doesn’t trust Dumbledore, and frankly after hearing Harry talk about him neither do I. So I think the best move is to report the Dursleys to social services.”

“What’s that?” Pansy asked. Ron was glad she had asked; he didn’t know either.

“It’s like an Auror department designed to ensure the safety and wellbeing of children.”

Pansy muttered, “As long as those children aren’t babies though, right?”

Hermione looked at her, puzzled. “What are you talking about?”

Pansy rolled her eyes. “Oh come off it. Everybody knows muggles eat babies.”

Hermione’s jaw dropped. “That’s not true!”

“Of course it is,” Pansy said. “And when muggle elders grow infirm and unable to live independently they’re thrown into a swamp to die.”

Hermione was still lecturing by the time Harry and Draco entered the classroom.

“My heroes!” Pansy exclaimed, rushing over and hugging them both. “Save me.”

Hermione puffed up like a bird. “We are not done here!”

“Did we come at a bad time?” Draco asked laughing. 

“She’s worse than McGonagall!” Pansy whined. Hermione looked immensely pleased.

“What’s this all about?” Harry asked.

“Pansy thought muggles ate their own babies!”

Draco frowned. “Don’t they?”

Ron roared with laughter. “Oh man, don’t make her start all over again!” He put an arm around Hermione, who was clearly steaming and ready to launch right back into it.

“If they did,” Harry said lightly to Draco, “Explain how the hell the Dursleys didn’t devour me the morning they found me on their doorstep!”

Hermione glared. “This isn’t funny, Harry.” She was already compiling a survey in her head to distribute among the purebloods asking for their beliefs on various muggle facts so she could better re-educate them, and organizing a protest to change Muggle Studies from an elective to a core class.

“It’s not not-funny,” Harry said. He was still mad at her, and goading her on was satisfying. Her scowl made him grin.

“We aren’t here to talk muggle theology,” Draco said. 

“He’s right,” Pansy said, looking at Harry. “Draco said you two are fine? Okay. Tell us Blaise lied.”

“Hold up,” Ron interrupted, “I wanna hear the prophecy first. No more excuses.”

Harry met Ron’s gaze, partly to answer him, partly to avoid Pansy. “Alright, prophecy first.” He paused, wondering if he should just blurt it out or what. He smiled slyly at Draco. “Fun Fact: the prophecy tapped two wizards to potentially become the Chosen One. It’s Voldemort who decided it meant me. The other guy it could have been?” He paused, eagerly anticipating the look on Draco’s face. “Neville Longbottom.”

“I’ve lost all respect for prophetic magic,” Draco sneered playfully.

“Bloody hell,” Ron muttered. “And you haven’t told him?!”

“And how would you have me break the news? ‘Hey Neville, it was prophesized you could have been the Chosen One, but the Dark Lord didn’t think you were worthy’?”

“Well, no…But you have to tell him somehow.”

Harry grimaced without comment.

“I can’t imagine Schlongbottom as the Chosen One,” Pansy said. “I heard his grandmother thought he was a squib when he was younger. If your magical abilities rank that low, there’s no way you’re gonna stand a chance against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.”

“His abilities aren’t low,” Harry defended, “It’s just his confidence.”

“Okay,” she said in a tone that clearly belayed her disbelief. Draco grinned and shot her a wink.

Harry rolled his eyes. “The rest of the prophecy said I’ll have power the Dark Lord knows not, and one of us must die at the hand of the other.”

“And?” Hermione urged.

Harry rankled at her. “And what? That’s it.”

“You know it’s not,” Draco argued.

Harry looked at him in surprise. “What, that bit about ‘neither can live while the other survives’? That’s nothing. It doesn’t even make any sense, it’s like, ‘On condition of one person doing the thing, neither can do the thing’. It’s just filler to sound mysterious.”

“Prophecy doesn’t use filler,” Pansy said, “It uses riddles.” She frowned. “But this is a strange one.”

“Sounds like bunk to me,” Ron said.

“Thank you!” Harry agreed.

“No, it means something,” Hermione insisted. Draco nodded.

“If that’s it for the prophecy,” Pansy said impatiently with raised eyebrows to Harry and Draco. “I want an explanation for what Blaise was on about.”

Harry finally made himself look at her, his shoulders tensing. “He was right,” Harry said quietly. Pansy felt the strike of a railroad spike split her smooth through the chest. “I thought if the only way to win the war was to use the Switch’s power, I was obligated to.”

Pansy shook her head in disbelief. “But…” _But I trusted you._ She looked imploringly to Draco, wondering how he could have ever forgiven this.

“He swore he won’t do it,” Draco assured her.

Harry nodded. “If the war reaches a point where it’s either use the Switch or accept Voldemort’s triumph, Draco is going to be the one to do it.”

“You can’t be serious,” Pansy said fearfully to Draco. “You can’t fight Him!”

“Hold up,” Ron stammered. “You’re saying Harry’s magic would be sacrificed?”

“Harry, you can’t!” Hermione cried.

“I lived without magic for eleven years, I can do it again,” Harry said firmly. “Besides, this isn’t Plan A. This is the last resort.”

The group argued for a long time before finally settling into a grumbling and wary acceptance of Harry and Draco’s agreement.

“In the meantime,” Ron said, “What’s to be done about Zambini?”

Pansy drew Blaise’s wand from her robe. “Weasley disarmed him,” she said, with more than a little pride and a smile for Ron. She twirled the wand between her fingers. “I could snap it now. You know. Spare the Ministry the legwork. It would be like community service, really.”

“You’d be expelled,” Hermione warned.

“I know that,” Pansy drawled, rolling her eyes, her nerves still frayed from the idea of Draco facing off against the Dark Lord one day. “I was teasing.”

“Give it here,” Draco said quietly. Pansy held it out and he put it inside his robe pocket. “I’ll return it to him when we get back.”

“That’s a stupid idea,” Harry muttered. Ron snorted while trying to conceal a laugh.

“He’s convinced he won,” Draco said. “He’s at his least dangerous right now.” Draco paused, thinking about that. “…If we let him think he’s won, he won’t attack you again.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed. “But that means pretending like we’re not…” _Shit, do I say ‘dating’?_ “…together,” Harry finished. 

“More than pretending,” Draco said as his thoughts raced ahead. 

“I don’t like where you’re going with this,” Harry said.

“Blaise isn’t stupid. He’ll suspect a trick. The first thing he’ll do tomorrow is hunt you down and Charm the truth from you.”

“Or just Legilimens you,” Harry argued, trying to deflect. 

Pansy raised an eyebrow. “You need special training for that. He hasn’t had it.” She wondered at Harry’s suggestion— _he just assumed anyone could do it, which suggests he’s managed to receive private training, naïve to its value,_ she thought.

“He’ll come for you Harry,” Draco said. “And if he thinks his plan failed, he’ll lash out.” His lips tightened. “We need to Obliviate you. We need to erase your memory of us reconciling and replace it with one where we break up. You need to believe it in order for Blaise to believe it.” 

“Oh, hell no,” Harry said.

“It’s only until the Ministry comes--”

“I don’t care if it’s only for ten seconds. No.”

“I’ve been studying memory charms,” Hermione said gently. “Just in case the war breaks out across the muggle domain and I need to relocate my parents without them fighting me. I figured out a way to preserve the extracted memories and return them at a later point.”

Harry glared at Hermione, looking directly at her for the first time since their confessional. “You just keep getting more and more helpful tonight, don’t you?” He sneered. She blushed but refused to avoid his gaze.

“It’s a good play, mate,” Ron said reluctantly.

“And the Ministry will come for Blaise any day now,” Draco reassured him.

“We don’t know that! What if they’re behind and they don’t show up for two weeks?!” Harry yelled. “I don’t care if Blaise comes after me again. I’d rather bleed than think I’ve lost you.”

“If Zambini thinks his plan didn’t work,” Ron began, “He’s not only going to attack you. You’ll be putting Malfoy in danger.” Harry’s shoulders slumped.

“If Blaise thinks he won,” Draco continued, “He will be on his best behaviour because he’ll be trying to woo me back. You’ll be safe, and so will I.”

Harry clenched his jaw and felt his eyes well up. “I hate this plan,” he said bitterly.

“Me too,” Draco said. “But it’ll work.”

Harry nodded. Trying to keep his voice from cracking, he said, “Don’t be nice to me, while we’re…when the plan is in place.” Draco looked pained. “If you’re civil I am going to make such a fool of myself trying to fix things. You have to push me away. You have to stay cruel.”

Draco didn’t feel real. “I…” He didn’t want to. 

“It’ll help the show,” Ron said. “Keep Zambini off the scent.”

Draco couldn’t argue with that. “Okay,” he breathed, the word shocking him when he heard it. He shot a look at Ron and snarled, “Don’t hold it against me after. I don’t want this.”

“I’m advocating, I get it,” Ron said.

Draco threw his glance to the floor, petulant.

“Let’s get this over with,” Harry said.

Draco looked up at him in alarm—this was going too fast. He wasn’t ready. “Shouldn’t we figure out a story for what we’re replacing your memory with?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Harry said. “It’s the same outcome no matter what the details. Hermione? Do it.”

“Wait!” Draco yelped.

“If you drag this out, I’m not going to be able to keep my nerve,” Harry said. “Please.”

“But—”

Pansy whispered in Draco’s ear: “Let him do it however’s easiest for him.”

Draco wanted to rage. It may have been his idea, but damnit, he wanted time to adjust and a goodbye and promises that things would be okay after. But Pansy was right. He nodded.

Hermione raised her wand, and it took all of Harry’s willpower not to resist. 

Pansy took Draco’s hand and whispered, “We should go.”

“I know,” he said, but didn’t turn away. She gave a gentle tug and still he refused to move.

Hermione furrowed her brow as she concentrated.

“Draco,” Pansy insisted, “We have to be gone before she’s done.”

He shuddered and turned, his body only barely cooperating.

Hermione’s face scrunched up. “Hold on,” she said. 

“Something wrong?” Ron asked, worried.

“Yes,” she said, perspiration gathering at her temples. “Memory is stored in both Harry’s essence and Draco’s brain--the Switch is fighting me.” Her gaze flicked between each of Harry’s eyes, trying to untangle the blockage. She grit her teeth; she would have to do this a different way. “ _Legilimens,_ ” she cast, reviewing Harry’s memory of talking to Draco. As the memory unfolded for her, she used Obliviate within it, keeping as much of the truth as she could and weaving pieces of lie that would build into the new memory. She could feel it working better, but the actual breakup scene caused the Switch to balk and reject the memory implant. It was too far removed from truth. “I need something real to add to the end, to make the new memory stick,” she said, struggling to maintain what she’d begun. “Malfoy, come here. Slap him.”

“What?!”

“You want this to work? Get over here. Now.”

He glared hatefully at her and forced himself to march up to Harry. Harry’s eyes, glazed over, already looked so sad… Draco froze.

Pansy quietly joined his side. “Remember that you’re helping him.”

Draco closed his eyes, revving himself up, repeating Pansy’s words over and over in his head. He opened his eyes and with the speed of a scorpion he cracked a stinging slap hard across Harry’s face.

Draco was horrified at the sound of it and had to cover his mouth to repress a cry. Pansy gripped him by the arm and pulled him back, soundlessly demanding he leave with her now. He took a step backward, and finally turned and let her lead him out.

Hermione quickly resumed her work and was able to sew up the last of the new memories with this real experience anchoring them.

The door closed. Harry’s eyes focused as Hermione retreated from his mind. 

Harry felt everything crash around him. He put a hand to his cheek and realized this was the last time Draco would ever touch him, and it was out of hate.

He closed his eyes.

“C’mon mate,” Ron said gently. “Let’s get back to Gryffindor, convince Seamus to part with the Firewhiskey he keeps under his bed. We’ll have a night of it, yah? Just get wasted and talk shite about all the times Malfoy’s been an idiot. It’ll make you feel better.”

Harry slowly opened his eyes and stared disbelievingly at Ron. “No,” he said when he realized his friend was serious. He winced hearing Draco’s voice… Quickly, he strode to the door.

“Where are we going?” Ron asked.

Harry stopped and turned to his friend. “Nowhere,” he said, an icy prickle over his skin as he had to bear the voice of his love haunting him every time he spoke. “ _We_ are going nowhere. I need to be alone.”

“Harry, you need your friends,” Hermione implored.

“Just once, in this godforsaken night, can you be on my side?” Harry ran without letting her respond.

He ran through the castle, feeling numb to risk as he saw the staircase he needed slide away. He leapt. He landed on the stair, tripping down a step as it continued to sway.

Harry didn’t stop until he was outside. He looked around, searching to see if Professor Sprout were outside the greenhouses, if Hagrid were tending the grounds, if any Professor were outside at all. Seeing no one to stop him, he rushed towards the Forbidden Forest.


	21. The Break Up

His wand out, Harry strode purposely into the Forbidden Forest. There was only one way he could think to earn forgiveness, and that was to find the Switch and return them to their rightful bodies. What better way to prove to Draco he wouldn’t sacrifice his magic if Harry no longer had access to it? 

The hair on the back of his neck rose. Harry turned swiftly, but saw nothing—until a humanoid form slowly adjusted colour, and its chameleon-esque pigment dropped its camouflage. Harry looked at it. It had olive reptilian scales, three long clawed fingers to each hand, a yellow tinted belly – and something bulbous and purple just lower—

Harry realized what he was looking at and quickly looked away, embarrassed.

The creature tilted its head in amusement at him. “Why do you react this way? Are you not male as well?” Its voice was incredibly deep, so much that it was a little difficult to understand.

“I am,” Harry said, looking into its orange eyes. “With humans, showing your, uh…” Harry made a motion towards the lizard man’s hips. The creature’s lips stretched across its teeth in a mocking grin. _What, you can say ‘Voldemort’ but not ‘penis’?!_ Harry berated himself. _Just say it._ “....your genitals is reserved for when you want sex.”

It laughed, a strange staccato hissing sound. “Simply being in your skin isn’t signaling sex,” it said. “Your discomfort is a construct.”

“I don’t understand.”

“How sad to be human.”

Harry shook his head. “Well, okay,” he said, “Nice talking to you.” He turned to leave.

Orange eyes appeared ahead of him, skin emerging slower from its camouflage. Harry looked back, thinking there were two of them now, but there was nothing left behind him. The creature laughed. “It’s only me,” it soothed.

“What do you want?” Harry asked.

“It’s been so long since I’ve smelled blood as ancient as yours.” Its long nostrils slit at forty five degree angles on either side of its face. Pupils dilated in unblinking eyes as it took a deep breath. “You are born of the Sacred Twenty Eight?”

Harry’s heart contracted as a flash of memory blinded him, and all he could see was Draco proudly explaining how both the Black and Malfoy families were members of the Sacred Twenty Eight – wizarding families known to be ‘truly pureblood’ without any muggle lineage whatsoever. “He is,” Harry said, his voice sounding strangled.

The creature tilted its head the opposite way. “He is, you are?”

Harry swallowed hard to work through the lump building. “I’m here for the Switch.” 

“Ahh, yes…” It took a powerful step towards him. 

Harry raised his wand. “That’s close enough--”

Harry felt the pressure snap his wrist before his eyes could track the movement. He cried out, his wand dropping. The creature gripped him by elbow and wrist and bit deep into the tender underbelly of his forearm. Harry raised his right hand and shot a burst of fire at his attacker. Its scales glowed and absorbed the heat. 

Harry felt dizzy. Releasing his elbow, the lizard man caught Harry neatly at the waist as his knees buckled. It continued to chug from the boy’s veins. Harry stared up at the treetops, all thought and feeling washing away and leaving him wrapped in a quiet resignation.

_Thump!_ \--he fell to the ground in a crumpled heap. Golden hooves with tufts of glittering white hair rushed around him, a high whinny declaring the charge. The reptile creature was chased back as the unicorns nearly impaled it, snorting and huffing in pleasure. 

Once certain it was gone, the unicorns circled Harry. He laid unmoving, his vision dimming. The leader scuffed a hoof anxiously and approached him, touching her horn to the bite. Black tar-like goo rose to the surface, and the unicorn shucked the venom away. She kept pressing her horn to the wound until it was cleaned and healed. When she was done, she tapped her horn to his wrist for good measure, the bone obediently clicking back into place.

Harry sat up, feeling a little light headed, and stared at the unicorn. Met with the boy’s eyes, the unicorn balked and skittered back. “Thank you for saving him,” Harry said, knowing if Draco’s body had died Harry would have been returned to his own form and Draco would have been the one to die. The unicorns edged away. He watched them, confused, wondering why they would rush to his defense and then hide from him…

All except one.

She was clearly a runt, reaching maybe half the size of her companions. Her coat was the same glittering white as her fellow unicorns, but her mane, tail, and ankle tufts shone a soft lilac hue. Her horn was a stubby thing, only an inch or so taller than her ears. She stared at him, and Harry wondered how her eyes looked both old and young.

He sat up slowly, not wanting to scare her. She quivered. “You should go,” Harry told her, having no idea how much human language unicorns could understand. “Go back with your family. The forest isn’t safe for someone so little.” 

She snorted, and a fierce twinkle came to her eye. It made Harry smile. She cautiously approached him, and bent her head low, gently tapping his chest with her horn.

Agony.

Every harrowing, traumatizing thing he had ever endured tore free from the sutures in his heart. He gasped, the pain incredible, and she laid sweetly on the grass beside him with her head and shoulders in his lap. He wept savagely. Harry could barely breathe. His hands gripped her hair, fists tight but never pulling, holding on as if he might fall from existence at any moment. She laid with him, nuzzling him, sighing in the purity of his anguish.

It was an hour before the sound of human suffering reached the ears of someone willing to interfere with a unicorn.

Snape found Harry sitting on the forest floor, cradling the unicorn and keening from pain.

“Idiot boy,” the professor said softly. 

Harry looked up at him, eyes wet. “Everything hurts,” he murmured.

Snape nodded. “She wouldn’t have chosen you if it didn’t.” He looked at the unicorn, laying so comfortably in his lap. “You’ve had enough, Sugarboots. Come along.” She blew air through her lips and gave a light toss of her mane. Snape raised an eyebrow at her. “ _Don’t_ give me that,” he said sternly. Making direct eye contact, she nuzzled into Harry and fluttered coquettish eyes at Snape.

The man scowled. “Fine,” he said, and in one elegant motion sat down with his cape swopping artfully around him. “You get one minute—” But before he could finish, the unicorn had bounded playfully up and trotted into his lap. She pressed her horn to his chest, and he felt damnation howling its banshee wails within. He pet her flank softly, his face marble but for a glistening in the corners of his eyes. Harry, feeling consumed and disintegrated, sat on the grass and watched Snape with the unicorn. 

After a while, Snape demanded in a husky voice, “Alright, pain-junkie. Off with you.” The unicorn whickered at him and rubbed her muzzle into his lank hair before trotting happily away. 

Snape raised his eyes to glare at Harry, clearly blaming him for the entire incident. “By name, this forest is Forbidden. Yet here. You. Are.” 

Harry had never felt so low in his life, but a spark of anger fluttered to life at Snape’s provocation. “I was only--”

“I don’t care,” Snape dismissed. “If you die in this forest, Mr. Malfoy pays the price of your arrogance.” Harry flinched. Snape’s hooked nose lifted disdainfully. “Keep that in mind the next time you wish to act so selfishly.” 

Harry had honestly believed he could handle anything in the forest. He still thought he could handle most of it…but Snape was right. He nearly got Draco killed. 

He couldn’t risk that again. Not even for forgiveness.

Snape smiled, triumphant, as Harry bowed his head in acceptance. 

In a quiet voice, Harry asked, “…You named her Sugarboots?”

The question drew Snape back. His thin lips pressed tight together. “She seeks me out; the forest is a great provider of potions ingredients. Our paths cross often.” Of course, Snape’s purpose tonight was not to collect school supplies; rather, he had volunteered to help track the Switch. 

“What did she do to us?” Harry asked. “Why did the other unicorns run?”

Snape narrowed his eyes. “Other unicorns?”

Harry explained how they had chased away the lizard creature, but refused to stay afterwards.

Having gathered his strength and will, Snape stood. “The Malfoy line has a long rooted history with unicorns; I’m not surprised they came to your aid. But with the Switch, they sensed a wrongness about you, and it drove them back.” He rose an expectant eyebrow at Harry. The boy remained cluelessly sitting on the grass. Snape leaned down and grabbed him by the arm and pulled him up. 

“Ow!”

“Unicorns are drawn to purity,” Snape continued teaching as he dragged Harry into a brisk walk. Harry jerked his arm away and kept stride, scowling at him. “Typically, that purity manifests as Virgins, Women, Children, or those in True Love.” He flicked his eyes at Harry. “Sugarboots is drawn to the purity of Anguish.”

Harry looked down at the grass and considered. “She comes to you often enough that you named her. You must have a great pain.”

Snape sneered. “Yes, his name is Harry Potter, and he’s a great pain in my arse.”

“I know you loved her,” Harry said softly. “My mother.”

Snape’s eyes narrowed to pinpoints.

“You lost the one person who made existence worthwhile. You said something that could never be taken back, something that permanently changed how she saw you. I just made the same mistake with the person I love.” Harry wasn’t looking at Snape but could feel his eyes on him. Harry kept staring ahead as they walked. “I’d do anything to know if he could have felt the same for me, if only I hadn’t…” He sighed. He looked up at Snape. “My mother loved you,” Harry said. “I don’t know if it helps. But you’ve waited long enough for your answer.”

For the first time, Harry saw a softness in Snape’s eyes. The man quickly looked away and the two walked in silence.

“You came for the Switch, I presume,” Snape said quietly. Harry nodded. Snape traced the derivation of the male pronoun and Harry’s goal in the forest to mean that Draco Malfoy was the person he lost. The man wasn’t surprised. “You think one grand act could undo what you’ve done.” There was no malice to the words; they were laid out with the steady, careful deliberation of a house of cards. “Was your love so small?”

“No,” Harry said. 

“No,” Snape echoed, “I did not think so.” He thought for a while. “When something is important enough, the reaching for atonement is more important than achieving it. Your personal gain is not the focus; it is the striving, the work towards making things right. That is all that matters.” His voice lowered. “Find your infinite. Find a way to honour the one you lost…Always.”

Harry looked up at him and wondered who this man could have been if things had been different.

He wondered who he would become without Draco.

They spent the rest of the walk in silence.

*

Not trusting Harry to do as he was told, Snape escorted him directly to Gryffindor Tower.

Harry slunk into the common room. He was pensive and aching and desperately wanted to sleep and shut off consciousness.

Ron and Hermione were talking on one of the loveseats when they saw Harry. Hermione wished she could go to him, but she and Ron had already discussed how to handle things when he came back; they had agreed that some ‘guy time’ might be in order. Ron quickly got up and walked silently with Harry upstairs to the dorm rooms.

Ron waited until they had reached their room and closed the door before asking, “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” Harry said numbly. Ron reached to put a hand on his shoulder and Harry twitched back. “Don’t.”

Ron let his hand drop awkwardly, feeling rebuked. “Yeah, okay,” Ron said, putting his hands in his pockets instead. Harry trudged towards his bed. Ron began to follow but saw the way Harry’s shoulders tensed at the sound of his approach. He stopped. “Wanna talk about it?” 

Harry said nothing. He toed off his shoes and left them where they lay sloppily by his trunk. He froze at the edge of his bed, his back to Ron, seemingly staring into nothing. 

“C’mon,” Ron implored, feeling like he was worlds away. “Lavender broke up with me, I know what its like.” Harry remained unresponsive; just staring. Ron chewed his lip. “If you can’t talk to me, who can you talk to?” Nothing. Ron sighed. “Okay…well…maybe in the morning, then...” Not knowing what else to do, Ron opened the door and stepped through to leave.

Harry gave the tiniest whimper.

Ron charged back inside and swung the door shut and was standing by his friend immediately. He searched Harry’s face, trying to will his friend to look at him. He followed Harry’s gaze and realized he hadn’t been staring at nothing.

The Slytherin tie was bright against the crimson pillowcase.

With a shaking hand, Harry drew his wand.

“Whoa, what are you doing?” Ron asked gently, pushing Harry’s hand down.

“I have to get rid of it,” Harry said, barely audible.

Ron grabbed the pillow and removed the case. The tie may have been sticky-charmed permanently to the fabric, but that didn’t mean the fabric was stuck to the pillow. “There,” he said, tossing the bare pillow back onto Harry’s bed. Ron put the case in his dresser with his socks, wanting it out of Harry’s reach. “Good old-fashioned muggle remedy. No need for permanent disappearings.”

“Why not,” Harry croaked.

“Because,” Ron argued. “You might want it one day.” He put a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “If Hermione and I ever break up, don’t let me erase all her stuff okay?”

Harry nodded, his eyes prickling. He sniffled.

“One more thing,” Ron said. He held out his hand. “The button.”

Harry shook his head. “No,” he moaned.

“C’mon mate,” Ron urged, feeling guilty, but knowing Harry shouldn’t have access to it. 

Harry dug in his pocket and pulled out the blue button with the ridges along the edge. He stared at it, then looked up at Ron with imploring eyes. “But…what if he tries to use it?”

Ron’s face furrowed in pain and he said as gently as possible, “He doesn’t need you anymore.”

Harry swayed back. He took a sharp breath, hot tears blurring his vision, and dropped the button into his friend’s hand. Harry broke into sobs, letting his head fall onto Ron’s shoulder and clutching him in a tight hug.

Ron was surprised—Harry never did stuff like this. He wrapped warm arms around Harry in an easy embrace. “Shh, it’s okay,” Ron murmured, trying to remember what his dad said to Percy the summer he and Penelope Clearwater broke up. “Everything ends—everything good has an end, but so does everything bad. What you’re feeling will pass.”

The door opened and Seamus halted at the sight of them. Nervously, he joked, “…Are you two breaking up?”

“Goddamnit, Seamus!” Ron swore. “Bugger off.”

“It’s my room, too,” he said. He was angry that Ron always threw down some alpha challenge whenever he tried to joke about something. Unwilling to cave in to Ron’s attempt at authority, Seamus strolled over to his bed.

Harry squirmed in Ron’s arms, pulling back in discomfort. Ron sighed and let him go, furious that Seamus ruined this one kindness he could offer Harry. Harry pressed the heels of his hands into closed eyes, trying to stop crying. 

“So what’s with the waterworks?” Seamus asked, half goading Ron, half curious and worried about Harry. He sat on the edge of his bed and loosened his tie. “Inquiring minds want to know.”

“I don’t give two short and curlies what you want,” Ron snapped. “Stay out of this.”

Seamus looked at Harry. “Girl trouble?”

Harry folded his arms across his chest; Ron drew his wand.

Seamus drew his with impressive speed. The hexes were shot simultaneously. Seamus dodged by dropping to one side into his mattress.

Ron was struck with a tickling charm. He doubled over laughing, his wand slipping from his grasp as his hands automatically held his stomach in futile protection. Seamus sat up, grinning.

Harry pulled out his wand and aimed at Ron. “Finite.” Ron caught his breath, his stomach sore. Harry looked Seamus in the eye. “Boy trouble,” he answered.

Ron groaned. “Harry, don’t go there.” 

But Harry craved something self-destructive, wanting to bleed out the parts of himself that led him to this. “I love someone who wants nothing to do with me.”

Seamus whistled. “The Chosen One Chose Cock. Who’da thunk?”

“Drink hemlock or go into exile,” Ron growled. 

Seamus smiled at Harry and asked with waggling eyebrows, “Who’s the bloke?”

“Don’t,” Ron grunted at Harry, worried.

“I’m not,” Harry agreed quietly. Looking to Seamus, he elaborated, “I’m not dragging him into this.”

“Why protect him?” Seamus cooed. “The guy turned you down, you don’t owe him shite.”

Harry’s heart squeezed and shuddered. _I didn’t protect him,_ Harry thought, _I betrayed him, and he left me._ Guilt calcified his muscles and brought bile to his throat. 

“He said back off,” Ron insisted. “So back the fuck off.”

“Is it actually you?” Seamus asked Ron. “Cuz I was joking before.”

“It’s not bloody-well me!”

“Do you wish it was?”

The tips of Ron’s ears turned red. 

Harry opened his dresser, took out his nightclothes, and went to the loo to change. 

He accidentally caught his reflection in the mirror. Harry let his pajamas drop onto the sink counter and just stared. Draco’s eyes confronted him, and Harry imagined that he was truly looking into Draco’s gaze, filled with the pain Harry caused, lancing with heavy hatred for Harry. 

He shared the look with his reflection, with the illusion of Draco, and in self-harm forced himself to drown in the darkness and judgement of Draco’s eyes.

*

The next morning, Harry and Ron were quieter than usual among the rowdy Gryffindor boys. 

“You two okay?” Neville asked.

Seamus scoffed. “Don’t pry unless you want the Ginger menace crawlin’ up yer arse about it!”

“What happened?” Dean asked Seamus.

“Nothing,” Ron growled with a threatening look at the Irish boy.

Seamus laughed. “Well, I was gonna say ‘nothing’, but now you’ve made that entirely unbelievable, you humourless bastard.”

“C’mon,” Dean urged.

Harry picked up his clothes and went into the bathroom to change.

“Seriously,” Neville asked Ron quietly, “You two okay?”

Seamus snickered. Ron shot a stinging hex at him and answered Neville, “We’re fine. He’s having a hard day, that’s all.”

“He just woke up?” 

“Yeah,” Ron muttered, “And it’s gonna be a bad one.”

Neville looked confused. Seamus whispered in Dean’s ear and Dean’s eyes went wide. “Really!?” 

Ron’s glared at the two of them. “You didn’t—”

Dean looked conspiratorially at Ron. “Who’s the bloke?”

“SEAMUS,” Ron said his name like a swear.

Seamus laughed, pretending Ron’s accusation was an answer to Dean. “If it were me, I’d let him practice sucking my dick all he wants. A mouth is a mouth. I wouldn’t care.”

Ron rolled his eyes. “Pretty sure you’re the last dude Harry would ever ever ever consider.”

“Harry came out?” Neville asked, smiling. “That’s great news!”

“You knew?” Dean asked. 

Ron quickly tried to clarify to Neville, “No, it’s not that, exactly--”

“Harry’s left hanging in a world of unrequited,” Seamus announced with sorrowful dramatics.

Neville’s gaze bounced from Seamus to Ron. “But…?”

Seamus threw an arm around Neville’s shoulders. “‘But’? Spill it, Neville, what do you know?”

“Nothing, really,” Neville said in a squeaky panic. He looked at Ron. Ron gave a tiny shake of his head. Neville wondered what happened with Malfoy... “Poor Harry.”

“Neville, why don’t we go have a chat downstairs,” Seamus leered, steering him out the door. 

“I really don’t know anything,” Neville tried insisting. Dean followed them.

Harry came out of the bathroom as they left. Ron grit his teeth. He knew he could trust Neville, but damnit he wanted to go skewer Seamus and Dean.

Instead, he sat beside Harry on his bed while he was putting his shoes on.

“Hey,” Ron said softly. “So…today’s gonna suck.”

“Yeah,” Harry said. 

“I was thinking about it a lot last night,” Ron admitted. “You literally share every class with only him. Like. No escape.”

Harry nodded. “Yeah.”

“Okay, so, I had this idea.” Ron wished Harry would react to anything with more than this tepidness. “Every time Malfoy pisses you off, or makes you sad or anything, press my button. Let me know. It’ll give you an outlet without him even knowing.”

Harry looked up at him. He reached into his pocket and pressed the large wooden button he knew by feel to be Ron’s. He stared at him as he held it.

“Oh…” Ron said as his own button burned in response. “Yeah, I guess it just hurts all the time, doesn’t it…?” He looked away, feeling foolish. “Sorry. It was a stupid idea.”

“I thought it was sweet,” Harry said, his voice raw. Ron looked back at him, checking for sincerity, and saw Harry give a tiny smile for him. 

“Well, good, cuz you know, you can do that all bloody day if it helps,” Ron said. “Burn a hole right through my pocket, I don’t care.”

“You’re a good friend.”

Ron felt embarrassed by how much those words meant to him.

*

Hermione was pacing nervously near the foot of the boy’s stairwell, waiting for Ron and Harry to come down. She knew Harry was still furious with her, but she just had to talk to him.

“Harry!” She called as they came into view.

Harry grimaced. “Can you give us a sec?” He asked Ron. 

“Yeah, sure thing,” Ron said. “I’ll be by the Fat Lady.”

Harry nodded and approached Hermione. 

“Harry, I know you’re mad at me--”

“I forgive you.”

Hermione looked stunned. “What?” She had stayed up all night preparing a speech.

In a flat voice, Harry repeated, “I forgive you. You were worried about me, you had every reason to be. I get it.” He took a deep breath. “And it wouldn’t have made a difference if I had gotten to Draco quicker,” his voice caught on the name. “Blaise just would have Charmed me to stay silent and still. All I could have done was witness.” He swallowed. “So it’s not your fault things ended the way they did, because by then it was inevitable. You betrayed me because you care about me. All of that, I can accept…But don’t ever tell anyone what you learned.”

She shook her head rapidly, tears in her eyes. “Harry, I would never!”

“Okay then,” Harry said. “We’re good.”

She threw her arms around him in a hug. He desperately didn’t want to be touched right now; he hugged her back.

Hermione squeezed her eyes, squeezed her friend, squeezed her reasoning that alerting muggle authorities wasn’t the same as telling just anyone. She beamed up at Harry as she pulled away. “I promise, everything’s going to be okay.”

*

Ron and Hermione were anxious as they walked Harry down the crowded hall on their way to breakfast; this was the most likely time Blaise would ambush Harry for answers.

And they had to let it happen.

Ron’s fingers itched to hold his wand at the ready to blast Zambini across the castle. He knew he couldn’t, but oh, how Ron wanted to… He clenched his jaw and reminded himself to stick to the plan. This is what would keep everyone safe. 

His gut told him to turn around, now. He ignored it. 

A slight chill to his right, and Harry was gone.

*

Blaise pressed Harry into the stone wall of the classroom. “Stay,” he murmured with his Charm. He locked the door with multiple spells. With a satisfied smile, Blaise swayed closer to the boy. Strange shadows filled his eyes. “Draco had some interesting things to say last night…and now, I want to hear them from you.” 

Harry smirked. “You don’t trust him.”

“I’m used to certain assurances, and I can’t get those when his mind is blocked off from my abilities,” Blaise admitted, and the corner of his mouth ticked. “But with you in Draco’s body, you don’t have that protection. So I’m going to ask you.” His smile was fragile—he was afraid that Draco had lied. Blaise didn’t know what he would do if he thought someone he _loved_ was actually trying to manipulate him…those games were reserved for Blaise alone. “Tell the truth,” he said, his voice strained, his Charm in full effect. “What happened between you and Draco after he found out everything?”

Harry grimaced. “We argued.”

“And?”

“And…” Harry knew he was only dragging it out, knew he would lose eventually, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t fight. “And he was angry.” He grit his teeth. “And I tried to fix it.”

“And?”

“And…he slapped me.”

Leaning close enough that each boy could feel the other’s breath on his face, Blaise prompted softly, the word an assassination: “And?” 

“…And…” Harry felt the pull of the Charm, and he couldn’t resist any longer. “…He broke up with me.”

Blaise’s smile strengthened. He knew it. He knew it was real—there was no way Draco had the cojones to try to deceive him. He sighed in relief, and a dangerous glint shone through his skin. “I feel like celebrating.” Harry didn’t understand until Blaise gave the order to kneel.

“You do this, he’ll never forgive you,” Harry said, falling slowly to his knees. He hoped he sounded angry rather than scared.

Blaise stroked long fingers down Harry’s cheek. “You’re forgetting: you mean nothing to him now.”

Harry shook his head. “That doesn’t mean he’d condone—”

“No more talking.” 

Harry glared silently. Blaise unbuckled his belt and opened the buttons along his trousers. “Hands behind your back,” he instructed breathily as he began stroking himself. Harry obeyed, digging his fingernails deep into his palms. 

Harry focused on a single loose thread over Blaise’s knee. He couldn’t look higher, he couldn’t. His palms ached as slender crescent cuts bore blood.

Blaise wove a hand through Harry’s hair and jerked his head back. Harry flashed on every time his uncle had ever grabbed him this way, and the fear compounded. Blaise whispered, “If I feel teeth, I will knock them out.” Seeing defiance and fury in the Gryffindor’s eyes, Blaise said again with his Charm, “Submit.” Harry shuddered.

*

Ron shifted, overwhelmed by a feeling of dread that they had made a huge mistake. “Harry should’ve been back by now.”

“Blaise is probably making him recount the entire memory, just to be sure there’s no trick…” Hermione was trying to convince herself as well as Ron, images of Harry’s lashed back held obsessively in her thoughts. She glanced down the corridor again, trying to suss out where Blaise had taken him. The morning student rush was dwindling, most kids already in the Great Hall for breakfast. 

Ron shook his head. “I’m telling you—something’s wrong.”

*

“Look at me.”

Silver eyes opened and flicked upward, his gaze a key sliding in the lock of Blaise’s eyes. Blaise moaned. The incubus part of Blaise needed Draco’s energy, and had been starving for some time now. Doing this with Harry was a cheap substitute, caffeine and sugar meant to trick himself into feeling satiated. But it helped, to feel Draco’s body…oh, it helped.

Perhaps he would need to do this again--just until Draco returned to him properly. 

Blaise pulled out, his hand pumping over his cock in furtive bursts. “Keep your mouth open,” he gasped. “Catch it, and keep it in your mouth…” He grunted softly, his pleasure interrupting him. “Don’t swallow it, don’t lose a single drop of it….” His orgasm yanked his entire body forward and he cried out. 

Harry curled his tongue back, trying to arch it away from the mess he held in his mouth, disgusted.

Blaise laughed and rubbed his cock against Harry’s cheek, wiping himself clean. “It looks good on you.” He smiled. His mind quieted, and he felt more _capable_ -–less frenzied-- than he had in so long. There were still countless pieces of himself out of reach, polarized without Draco’s energy to bind them…but he felt like he could breathe again. 

He did up his trousers. “Close your mouth,” he instructed. “Careful--keep it all in there.” Harry did as he was told, his nose wrinkling. The strange, firey taste was a reminder that Blaise was only half-human. 

Blaise held out his hand. “Let me help you up.” Posing the comment with his Charm, Harry was obliged to take his hand and let himself be pulled. The second Harry was on his feet he yanked his hand away. Blaise chuckled. “Keep daring me with your eyes, maybe next time I’ll make you beg for it.” Harry’s hands were in fists, clenched so tight they trembled. Blaise sighed happily. “In the meantime…You’re gonna keep my cum inside your mouth. I want you surrounded by your friends while tasting me.” He grinned. “You have to keep it there until you’re in the Great Hall, seated at the Gryffindor table. Then, and only then, will you swallow. All of it.” 

*

Hermione grabbed Ron’s hand. “There he is!” she said, relieved to have found Harry. She and Ron rushed to join him as he hurried towards the Great Hall. 

“Where’d you run off to?” Ron asked, pretending they hadn’t set him up to get taken by Blaise. Harry wouldn’t even look at him, just kept speed-walking. “Hey, come on, you nearly gave us heart failure when you disappeared like that,” Ron prompted. Why wouldn’t Harry tell them what happened? “We’re supposed to be watching you.” Unable to take the subtle route any longer, Ron prodded, “Was it Blaise?”

Harry’s jaw tightened, and the anger in his eyes was electric. 

“Harry,” Hermione said, putting her hand on his arm. He jerked away from her so hard that he stumbled. He instantly felt guilty; he hadn’t meant to jolt. Exhaling hard through his nose, he forced himself to give her hand a quick squeeze in apology before releasing it and continuing his fast pace onward.

“…Did he say you couldn’t talk to us?” Hermione asked. 

Harry glanced back at her without meeting her eyes and tapped his nose like one does in charades. Her guess wasn’t really correct, but it was close enough to explaining without explaining.

She huffed. “Well that’s stupid. How long does he think he can keep something like that up?!”

Ron considered how fast Harry was going. “Till we get to the Great Hall?” Harry increased his speed without trying to answer. 

God, he couldn’t look at them. He couldn’t look at anyone. He burst through the doors to the Great Hall and moved as fast as he could without drawing attention to himself. He didn’t even bother making his way down the row to reach their usual spots at the Gryffindor Table, he sat at the first open space he could reach. He swallowed. Harry’s face twisted in repulsion, a small gasp to move fresh air through his mouth. 

“Why are we--” Hermione started to ask about Harry’s choice in seating, but he had already shot back up and was rushing out of the Great Hall. “You’re kidding?” She asked, annoyed. She looked at Ron. He shrugged and followed, and she rolled her eyes and joined him.

Once in the corridor, Harry ran back to Gryffindor and pelted up the dorm stairs two at a time. Hermione, not as athletic as the two Quidditch players and with shorter legs than either Draco’s body or her boyfriend’s, was hoping nobody noticed her labored breathing by the time they reached the sixth year boys dorm. She was proud that she managed to keep up with them. 

Harry threw the door to the bathroom open and landed with a hard _thunk_ to his knees in front of the toilet. Hermione stood by Ron in the loo doorway; she’d seen girls do this after eating, but was confused about Harry’s intentions.

Ron felt the world’s shadows darken as he understood what must have happened. He watched Harry trying unsuccessfully to throw up. Without a word, Ron left the doorway and dug around his trunk. 

Harry was putting his finger down his throat, but couldn’t seem to do more than dry retch. Ron’s hand emerged beside him, offering a pink candy. “Puking pastille,” Ron explained. Harry took it gratefully and was soon vomiting into the toilet. Ron walked out of the loo.

Hermione remained anxiously in the doorway. The sounds Harry made flipped her stomach, and she was forced to give him his privacy. She closed the door. “Ron…?” She asked, not knowing the question.

“We fucked up,” Ron growled as he paced. “We thought Zambini would back off if he thought they were broken up.” He kicked Seamus’s trunk in frustration. It skidded an inch, and the minimal reaction infuriated Ron into kicking it harder so it widely scooted back.

“Ron!” Hermione scolded in worry—she didn’t want him to get into trouble.

“This is our fault!” Ron hissed at her.

“What is?”

Ron looked at her, really looked at her. “Come on, ‘Mione…” he said slowly. “Think.”

He watched her become a little less innocent in that moment as her eyes grew and she looked up at him in panic. He suddenly felt like a jerk. “Yeah,” he said. “You got it.”

They waited silently, the faint sounds of Harry vomiting in the background, Ron pacing out his anger as Hermione sat stone-still on the edge of his bed. Finally, the sound of the toilet flushing. Ron stopped pacing and strode over to the bathroom door, throwing it open. 

Harry was brushing his teeth, his back to the mirror. He glanced up at Ron, and was amazed at how angry his friend looked. It both embarrassed him, because it proved Ron knew, and it made his own anger feel vindicated. Harry turned towards the sink, carefully avoiding the mirror, and spat until his mouth was dry. He roughly scrubbed his face, splashing more water than he needed, using more soap than necessary, wishing he could just peel off the first few layers-- 

“Mate,” Ron said, seeing Harry was rubbing his skin raw. He handed Harry a towel, silently telling him to stop. Harry hesitated, but turned the water off and took it.

Harry stepped out of the loo, Ron at his side, Hermione sitting stiffly on the edge of Ron’s bed. Harry dried off his face and tossed the towel on the floor. “Right then. Breakfast?” 

Ron gaped as Harry started to leave the room. “Are you mad?!” Ron asked.

Harry turned to face his friends. “I just threw up everything and more. I’m starving.” 

“Harry,” Hermione began in a crumbling voice.

Harry cut her off. “It’s over. I’m hungry. Let’s go.”

Ron shook his head. “It’s not over, Harry. We have to deal with this. We have to deal with him.”

“Yes,” Hermione agreed, standing. “We need to alert Professor McGonagall.”

Ron raised his eyebrows at her. “That’s almost as mental as pretending nothing happened.”

Offended, Hermione put her hands on her hips and glared at Ron. “Harry doesn’t trust Dumbledore, and she’s our Head of House!”

Harry laughed. The sound caught his friends off guard, and they turned in unison to look at him. “I’m not reporting anything!” Seeing Hermione about to argue, he quickly continued. “No. This is an actual crime. I would have to let her, and god knows how many Aurors, see that memory.” His face burned at the idea of his professor and total strangers seeing him that way. “And once the Aurors are involved, I’d have to pretend to be Draco. Then his parents would be notified, since he’s a minor. I’d have to explain what happened to freakin’ Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. And there’d be a trial…” He shook his head. “Absolutely not.”

“Besides,” Ron said, “Having Zambini arrested isn’t nearly as satisfying as getting to crucio the blighter ourselves.”

Harry grinned savagely. He had to admit, the idea felt….good.

Hermione looked between them. “A torture spell isn’t justice.”

Ron shrugged. “I’m not out for justice, I’m out for revenge.”

“And I’m out for breakfast,” Harry said. “Let’s stop talking and go before the food’s gone.”

*

Breakfast was a tense affair. Ron kept glaring at the Slytherin table, plotting how best to curse Blaise and get away with it. Harry and Hermione were silent, but while Harry ate heartily she barely picked at her food. 

When it was time to go to class, Harry argued against their accompanying him to the Dynamics Room. “Blaise got what he wanted less than an hour ago. He’s not coming after me right away.” Harry was fed up with being babysat and didn’t want to be a continual burden on his friends….Especially when their ‘help’ had not prevented Blaise’s attacks. 

Harry walked alone to class. He imagined a thousand different scenarios for when he saw Draco again, but he still felt achingly unprepared.

He arrived at the door to see Pansy and Draco.

And Blaise.

Harry took out his wand and glared at Blaise, who had the audacity to smile at him. Harry aimed at Blaise’s chest. “How dare you--”

Draco stepped neatly between them. “Back off, Potter.”

_And we’re back to ‘Potter’,_ Harry thought, misery sticking between his ribs. Harry lowered his wand incredulously. “You trust him, after everything he’s done to you?!”

Draco stepped closer to Harry and with soft anger said, “My business is no longer any of yours.”

Harry grit his teeth and swallowed back the lump threatening to build in his throat. He looked at Pansy. “And you? Do you think it’s a good idea to have Blaise around?”

Pansy glared at Harry coolly. “You betrayed Draco. So did Blaise. I don’t trust either of you. But here’s the thing: I don’t get to control his choices, so if he wants to talk to Blaise, that’s his deal.”

Harry smirked. “No, the only person allowed to control others’ choices is Blaise himself.” He looked at Draco imploringly. “He’s dangerous. You know that.”

“Since when did you care about my safety?” Draco snarled. “When you were willing to burn out my magic and leave me for dead?”

Harry felt gutted. “That’s not fair,” he whispered. “You know I--” 

“Shut up,” Draco said. “Just shut up. I’ve heard it all.” He stormed into the classroom, slamming the door in Harry’s face.

Blaise slow-clapped, grinning at Harry. “Good show,” he said. “I love a good crash and burn.” He laughed as he walked away.

Harry felt his hands trembling in fury, the muscles across his shoulders knotted and straining. He looked up at Pansy. “Any cute one-liners to add before leaving?” 

She watched him carefully, and stepped closer so she could whisper. “You told Blaise. About… _her_.” She moved a hand across her belly.

Guilt crashed over Harry. “I’m sorry,” he said, feeling inadequate.

“He’s half-incubus, Potter,” she reprimanded. “Which means power over sex and reproduction.” Pansy saw this was going over his head. She rolled her eyes and spelled it out for him. “He’s threatened to abort her if I don’t cooperate.”

Harry gripped his wand tight enough to make his knuckles go white. “I’ll--”

“I don’t want offers of championship,” she interrupted. “Frankly, after what you were willing to do to Draco, I don’t know if I want your child—even if she is mine and Draco’s too.” It was the hardest lie she had ever told. She was grimly proud to see Harry’s shock; it meant she was playing her part well. But all the same, it made her sick. “But whether I do or don’t is _my_ choice, and mine alone. I won’t let Blaise do something to take that from me.” Harry nodded numbly, unsure what else to do. “If I choose to keep her, will you still uphold your promise to get the Bell Jar?”

“Yes,” Harry whispered fervently. He wished he could make that word stronger.

“Even if I don’t want you to have any other part in her life?”

Harry felt slapped. He opened his mouth and closed it a few times before finally saying, “I’d try to change your mind…but yes. Even then. I’ll help you.”

She wanted to hug him. She curtly nodded and left, anxious for Blaise to be hauled away and for all this to be over so she could befriend Harry earnestly.

Harry took a moment to steady himself before entering the classroom.

“Two minutes,” Draco drawled, “thirty six seconds…” Harry’s heart stopped. It was the game Draco played when missing him. “…of peace before you barged in.”

“Don’t,” Harry said. He couldn’t stand Draco trying to turn good memories ugly.

“Don’t?” Draco echoed, scoffing. “Is that all you got? Pathetic.”

Harry snapped, “If caring about you is pathetic, what does that say about you?”

“What would you know about caring for people?” Each word had the rapid numbness of skinning a rabbit. “You don’t have a single memory of love in your life. No wonder you were so quick to betray me. It’s all you’ve known.”

Harry’s lip curled in cold fury as he murmured, “It comforts you to think that, doesn’t it? You’d rather convince yourself that I couldn’t have possibly felt anything for you than accept that I’m human and I fucked up. You push people so fucking far at any offense. You’d rather be alone than forgive someone.”

“Do you think you deserve forgiveness?” Draco sneered. “Do you think you’re so hard-done-by? Have I been unfair to you?” Draco leaned back in his chair. “Stop pretending like I was anything more than a weapon for you to use.”

Harry strode towards where Draco was seated. “You can’t rewrite the truth to make yourself feel better.” He leaned into Draco, fists resting on his desk. “I recognized you the first time we met,” his voice was gravel over honey. “You were swagger and insecurity, clever and cutting, yearning for connection but keeping the world at a distance. You made me angry, you challenged me, you intimidated me.” Harry leaned closer. “I saw you, and it was like finding the forgotten. You lifted something in me. I both knew you and knew nothing about you, and craved the return to memory. I’ve never been able to get you out of my head, for all our years together. And I know I’ve haunted you the same way.” Draco felt the air squeeze from his lungs. “Being with you fits. You say you don’t feel that anymore…but I still do.” Harry wondered at the look in Draco’s eyes… “What do you want from me?”

Draco barely breathed the words. “I want you to stay away.” He hated himself for continuing this plan.

Harry’s jaw clenched. “Then stop baiting me.” He stood up straight and moved far down the row before taking a seat. Draco released a shaky breath and blinked back the filling in his eyes.

When Remus entered the class, he was surprised to see the boys sitting so far apart. They hadn’t done this since the first few classes. 

“Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy,” he chided. “Whatever disagreement is separating you, stow it away during class.”

“More than a disagreement,” Harry muttered.

Draco snapped, “Nobody wants to hear it, Potter.”

Remus looked between them. “That’s enough,” he said gently. “Stand, both of you. Follow me.”

Confused, Harry and Draco followed their professor outside. “Today, we embark on earth magic. Which is much more effective if we have actual earth to work with.” He led them to an area east of the Herbology huts and greenhouses. It was a small plot of land devoid of grass or any other plant life. “Fire and air are the easier of the elements to command—they may be more temperamental while in use, but they will come to your call quickly and can be cast from nothing. Earth magic needs to be called from an existing source, whether that’s land or a seed or a plant. Soil is the most pliable to begin with, so that’s where we’ll start. I want you to dig a hole.” The boys both took out their wands and aimed at the ground with determination. 

It was a long time before either of them could make so much as a teaspoon of soil lift. Harry was the first to succeed. When Draco was able to finally get a proper scoop, he levitated it towards the small hole Harry was creating and dumped it in. Draco continued digging with a smug smile.

Harry glared at him, and Draco sent a second scoop spilling into Harry’s dugout. Harry turned his wand to the spot Draco was working in and used fire to solidify the earth into rock. Draco tried to dig and couldn’t gain purchase. He frowned, concentrating harder, and Harry smirked.

“Gentlemen,” Remus said warningly. Both boys turned to him with matching innocent faces. He smiled, not buying it for an instant. “Let’s try another exercise, one that forces independent work, shall we?” With a flick of his wand, two long slits bore through the earth. 

Seven feet long. Four feet deep.

“Get in.”

Harry raised his eyebrows in disbelief. Remus stared at him until Harry heaved a sigh and hopped into the first grave. He laid down.

“No way,” Draco said, shaking his head. 

"Refusal to participate will result in a permanent notation on your academic record.”

Draco flicked his gaze between the grave and his professor. “Great Morgana,” he muttered, daintily stepping in and arranging his robe to wrap around himself as much as possible.

“You’ll be buried to your necks,” Remus explained, “And then I’ll slowly introduce small clumps of soil across your faces. Your task is to keep your airway cleared.”

“Sadistic son of a bitch,” Draco muttered anxiously.

“Ten points from Slytherin,” Remus said. “The next one will mean detention.” 

Draco said nothing. 

“Ready?” Remus asked. Both students closed their eyes and held tighter to their wands. Remus flicked his wand, and dirt blanketed both boys up to their chins. Draco flinched as Remus began casting gentle scoops of soil across their faces. 

Draco was squeezing his eyes as hard as he could and working too hard trying to move every single grain of dirt from his face. He was never able to finish before the next round fell on him, and he was quickly becoming panicked.

Harry didn’t try.

Harry felt peaceful as the dirt hit his face. The compression all around him was soothing. He let the earth pile up, and then moved the earth away from his nostrils…but a sharp inhale still had him coughing on bits of soil that vacuumed inward as he breathed. Harry tried using earth magic to keep every particle of soil steady, but there was too much of it. He decided to cheat.

He called on air magic to create a bubble around his nose. The air was stale and his lungs ached to pull more in. It was like breathing through a straw from under a blanket, sucking thin breaths of old air…Harry concentrated. _Air’s like, what—oxygen and nitrogen, right?_ All Harry had to do was filter out the nitrogen and breathe pure oxygen, and then it wouldn’t matter that his air intake was small because he’d be getting so much more from it. _And if I screw up and filter it wrong, it’ll make me cough so I’ll know right away to try again. I’ll just keep experimenting until it feels right. Easy!_

Remus watched as Harry let himself be buried, keeping a close eye on any signs of struggle. After a few minutes, Remus started to get nervous. He cast a quick diagnostic charm—Harry’s heartrate was normal, he appeared fine. But he wasn’t moving the earth. Frowning, Remus turned his attention to Draco. The Slytherin was frantically trying to keep his face clear, soil spraying outward at his efforts. Remus smiled. At least the boy was learning.

But what was Harry doing?

A few minutes later and Remus called, “Alright, enough.” He flicked his wand and cleared all the dirt away from both his students. Draco bolted upright and scrambled to get out of the shallow ditch.

Harry laid there, giggling.

Remus narrowed his eyes. “Mr. Potter, what exactly were you doing?”

“My fingers feel weird,” Harry said between giggles. He was examining his hands, his wand fallen forgotten on top of his chest. “Like, tingly. And too long. Weird.”

Remus pinched the bridge of his nose. “Harry, why didn’t you move the earth like I told you to?” 

“Clock winder,” Draco swore, “You mean he just _laid there like an idiot?_ ”

Harry kept giggling, and Remus prompted again, “Harry?”

“It was nice,” Harry tried to explain. His hands dropped to his belly. “I didn’t need to make it stop, all I had to do was make the air strong.” He lost himself to laughter.

Remus scanned him again, this time examining his lungs and blood cells. Remus cracked a grin. “Congratulations, Mr. Potter. You created nitrous oxide. You’re high on laughing gas.”

“I-Am-Not!” Harry said in a scandalized voice, then burst out laughing.

“Go to Madam Pomfrey. She’ll brew you an antidote.”

“I don’t neeeeed….”

“Go. You’re no good to me here.” 

Harry pouted. He dragged himself up from the ditch, and had to try three times before successfully fitting his wand back into its holster. The effort doubled him over with laughter.

Remus shook his head in amusement. _James would be so proud of his little delinquent._

*

Harry stood inside the castle and was overwhelmed with how positively huge and chaotic it was. He was smiling so hard it hurt, and just kept slowly twirling around looking at the walls.

An angry meow at his heels, and Harry beamed down at the red-eyed cat. “Mrs. Norris!” He sat cross-legged in the middle of the floor. She growled, annoyed that he wasn’t afraid of her. Leaning conspiratorially towards the cat, Harry whispered, “Why are you a Mrs.? Is Filch your Mister?” He laughed so hard that he wilted to the floor. Twitching the tip of her tail, Mrs. Norris trotted off to alert her master of a student clearly intoxicated and skipping class.

“Well, she’s in a right hurry!” Scoffed Nearly Headless Nick as he floated through the corridor. He spotted Harry laying on the ground giggling and approached him. “I say, Harry, you mustn’t be here when she returns! What are you doing?!”

“I’m, I’m,” Harry found it hard to concentrate. What was he doing, anyway? “I’m going—to Madam Pomfrey!”

“Well, she’s not on the floor, you know!”

Harry thought this was the funniest thing he had ever heard in his life. 

“Come on now,” Sir Nick insisted, “Get up!”

He stood up, surprised that his limbs behaved sloppily. Sir Nick floated slowly alongside him, concerned the boy would miss a moving staircase and fall. Harry was continually distracted by everything. The House Ghost used conversation like a carrot on a stick to keep Harry walking with him towards the Healer’s ward. 

“So wait,” Harry asked when they had nearly arrived, “You can see, and you can hear…but you can’t touch…and you can’t taste. Can you smell?”

Sir Nick laughed. “Of course not,” he said. “I hardly imagine Miss Warren would enjoy haunting the sewer system if we could smell!”

Harry’s brow knit together in confusion. “Who?”

“Miss Warren,” Sir Nick replied. With a huff, he quietly added, “You know. Myrtle Warren.”

“Moaning Myrtle!” Harry cackled. 

“Yes yes, quite, but I find it rather rude to call her that.”

They arrived at Madam Pomfrey’s and the House Ghost took off, pleased to have delivered Harry safely to her care.

She gave Harry a vial of tinted green liquid with bits of pulp floating throughout. He drained it and gave the glass back to her, and instantly felt the results.

“Now, you may feel a bit low afterwards--”

Low didn’t begin to describe it.

“—but that’s a normal side effect and should wear off in twenty minutes to an hour, depending.”

With a grunted “Thanks”, Harry left the healing ward and leaned against the wall of the empty hallway. He felt like his chest had been cracked open and his bones were feeling the chill of air for the first time. It was a pain so consuming that it felt surreal. All the grief and fury he felt before he’d done his air experiment was dropped even lower by the antidote. 

He forced himself to move. He walked down the hall, and with every step he had to remind himself to breathe.

Harry swung into the boy’s washroom, thinking to splash water on his face and try to calm down. He reached the sink, and silver eyes met his gaze in the mirror.

The pain in his heart strained and snapped. The mirror shattered. Hundreds of lacerations laced his hands as every single piece of glass bed itself into his skin. He looked down, horrified and mesmerized by the gleaming shards and oozing blood.

“Hello?” Came a girl’s voice.

Ginny walked in with her wand drawn. She’d been walking back to class, having just gone to the girl’s loo herself, when she heard something breaking and decided to investigate. She found Harry staring at his hands, a mess of glass and flesh, flashing reflections of gore.

“Ohh,” she gasped, wincing at how painful it looked. “Come on, Harry, Madam Pomfrey’s is pretty close--”

“No,” he said hoarsely.

“What do you mean, ‘no’?” 

He looked up at her, miserable, and she thought he looked four years old again. “She’ll make it perfect,” he whispered. “Make it like it never happened…” He shook his head, pressing his lips together briefly. “And that’s not real. It _hurts_ , and I need it to hurt.”

Ginny stared into his eyes. She turned to the door and cast a series of locking charms similar to what the Slytherins use. “Well, you can’t walk around the castle with glass-for-hands,” she said softly. She removed her robe and laid it on the cold tile floor, then cast a charm to turn it thick and plush. “Take off your shoes and sit,” she instructed. “We’ll let it hurt while we fix it, okay?”

Harry wasn’t sure what she meant to do, but her understanding made something relax inside him amidst the constricting heartbreak. He obediently toed off his shoes and sat down, keeping his hands held out.

Slipping her shoes off, Ginny sat in front of him. She pulled a barrette from her hair and transfigured it into tweezers. “You don’t want an instant fix,” she reiterated, “So we’ll keep it slow.” She leaned over his hand and used the tweezers to pull a piece of glass. It was harder than she expected to dislodge, and she had to re-grip the fragment as it emerged. “You control the pace: fast or slow. If at any time it hurts too much, just tell me ‘fast’, and I’ll vanish whatever pieces are left.”

“Can you do that for a heart? Vanish the broken pieces?”

Ginny looked up at him, but he wouldn’t meet her eyes. She lowered her gaze back to his hands and continued working as she said, “Neville told me…about you and Malfoy…is that what brought this on?”

Harry swallowed hard. “Yeah.”

“I’m sorry.”

Her sympathy nearly tipped him over the edge. Unable to bear the pain in his chest, he flexed his hands slightly, burrowing some shards deeper. 

“Stop it,” she said, “You’re making my job harder.”

“Sorry,” he offered.

She pinched a smaller piece, but there wasn’t enough of a head on it to get a proper grip. She squeezed the base of the skin, trying to make it cut its way upward to the surface. “Can I ask what happened?”

Harry grit his teeth. “Yeah,” he said in a shallow voice. “I need to tell you guys anyway…I should have told you a long time ago, I just didn’t know how…” He winced as a particularly bad piece was pulled free. 

“What are you talking about?”

Harry closed his eyes. “Last year, after the Battle at the Ministry…Dumbledore took me into his office. And he told me what the prophecy said.”

Ginny stopped her work and slapped his leg. “Why the hell didn’t you tell us before?” She demanded, her eyes bright with anger.

“Because it wasn’t monumentally useful, and it wasn’t good.” He met her eyes. “It said Voldemort and I are bound, that one of us will die at the hand of the other. And it said I’ll have a power he won’t know about.” 

Ginny let out a slow breath through her mouth. “Okay…fifty-fifty odds. Could be worse…and hey, a secret power…that’s pretty good, right?” 

Harry lowered his eyes, ashamed of what he had to say next. “I thought it might be the Switch’s power. That I might have to burn away Draco’s magic to defeat him...” He felt his face heat. “Last night, Draco found out that I was willing to betray him. He rightfully called things off.”

Tiny beads of glass forced Ginny to dig to retrieve them. “He should know you well enough to know that’s not a decision you’d make lightly.”

“Yeah, but it’s a decision I shouldn’t have made at all,” Harry said, trying to keep still under her ministrations. “Losing his magic would kill him.”

“Every culture has stories where the hero has to make an impossible decision,” she mused. “Usually between someone he –loves-,” she tripped on the word. Harry felt his gut tighten. “And between his duty.” She held his hand closer to her face, trying to see the smaller fragments embedded. “Most expect the hero to find a way to defy the odds, to save everyone.” She pulled out a thick piece of glass and let it clink, discarded, to the tile floor. “That’s where the stories get it wrong. Winning isn’t a domination, it’s a sacrifice.”

Harry looked up at her, wondering if she believed her own words or if she was just trying to make him feel better. “But…”

“But nothing,” Ginny said into his hand. She plucked a stubborn piece of glass. “Malfoy knew exactly who you were, your part in this story, before he got involved. If he thought you should give up the world for him, then he’s more selfish and arrogant than even I thought he could be.”

A sniffle caught her attention and she looked up. Harry had tears down his face; seeing her notice embarrassed him, and he tried to swipe one cheek against his shoulder. “Sorry,” he muttered, a tiny laugh bubbling out in self-mockery.

She summoned some tissue paper and dabbed gently at his eyes. “See, this is why you need your hands,” she teased. “This is why healing is a good thing.” She cleaned the tear tracks that ran down his face and then moved the tissue to his nose. “Blow.”

“No, that’s gross,” he said with a little laugh, leaning away from her.

She grinned. “I stuck my tongue in Fred’s nostril on a dare once. This is nothing. Blow.”

Harry laughed. He let the tissue cover his nose and he blew. She vanished the tissue when he was done and smiled at him. She held up the tweezers. “Round two. Fast or slow?”

“Slow,” Harry answered.

She began working on his other hand. The first was bleeding, and she thought it might be good to let it weep out any tiny shards she may not have seen, so she let it bleed. Harry turned his hand this way and that, trying to keep the drops running instead of falling on her robe. She smiled at him and said, “It’s fine. I can clean it later.” She worked in silence for a while, tugging chunks of glass. Hesitantly, she said, “I fell for someone who wasn’t good for me a while back. He was a Slytherin, too.”

Harry wanted to argue at her insinuation about Draco not being good for him, but his curiosity won out. “Who?”

She brushed a fallen strand of hair out of her face and kept working. “An older guy. He wanted to keep us a secret, just like Malfoy did with you.”

“But I didn’t want to make public disclosures either,” Harry said.

“Maybe for now, you didn’t,” she said. “But I know you. You wouldn’t want it to be a secret forever. You’d eventually hate being locked in a closet.” It was a little too close to ‘locked in a cupboard’ for Harry’s comfort. He grimaced. “You’d hate watching him get engaged, having everyone compliment him and some other woman as the perfect couple. Watching them get married…have children…” She looked up at him. “Those are things you want for yourself, and you’d never have them if you two stayed together. Malfoy’s family would never accept him marrying a man. You’d have lost him no matter what.”

Harry closed his eyes and slowly made a fist with his glass-free hand, making the cuts ooze. Physical pain was simple—it had a clear path to healing, a promised end, a return to before. The pain in his heart felt permanent and whispered how it could change him. 

Ginny worked in silence picking shards from his hand. She glanced at the pile of discarded bloody glass on the floor, amazed at the amount. When she finally finished, she picked up her wand and said, “No healing spells, I promise. But I need to extract any fragments I can’t see, okay?” He nodded. She cast, and four tiny slivers were ripped out. He flinched. “Now to clean up. Fast or slow?”

“Slow.”

Ginny stood and took some paper towels, transfiguring them into a (flimsy) container. She filled it with water from the sink. Careful not to spill, she set it between her and Harry as she sat down. “Salarius,” she cast into the water. The container became swirled with salt.

She reached forward and gently took Harry’s wrists. He braced himself as she lowered his hands into the salt water. Rapid stinging zapped across his open cuts and made Harry wince. 

The two sat in silence, watching the water turn pink. After a while, Ginny pulled his hands out and vanished the container. 

“We need to close or cover the wounds. Fast or slow?”

“Slow.”

Ginny unknotted her tie and slid the silk off her neck. As she aimed her wand, it split into two pieces and the fabric thinned as it transfigured into bandages. She held Harry’s right hand, picked up one bandage, and began to gently wrap it across his palm. She frowned; she didn’t want to leave his fingers exposed, but wrapping them individually would be too bulky and wrapping them together would mean Harry couldn’t use his hands. “I’m not going to bandage your fingers,” she warned, “So be careful with yourself.”

“As careful as I ever am.”

“That’s not reassuring,” Ginny teased.

She finished wrapping his right hand and cast a sticky-charm to keep the bandage in place. She took the second bandage and snaked it around his left hand, letting the fabric brush just past his knuckles and securing it around his thumb. A second sticky-charm and her work was finished. She let herself hold his hand for a long moment before she began to withdraw. To her surprise, stiff fingers closed over her, imploring her to stay.

Her breath hitched.

At the sound, Harry looked up into her face, his gaze flicking from her eyes to her lips. Her mouth was slightly parted. 

He knew.

He knew he was seeking self-destruction. He knew this path would hurt him. 

All of that, he wanted. But he didn’t want to hurt her. “I’m not--”

“Shh,” she said, placing the pad of her finger to his lips. When he obediently fell silent, she let her hand drop, leaning incrementally closer to him. Her mouth curved into a smile. “Fast or slow?”

Harry looked into her eyes, saw the mischievous glint, and he smiled. “Fast,” he said as he kissed her.


	22. Seeing Red

She was so soft.

Harry kissed along her jawline to her ear, and daggers of thrill dragged through him to feel her creamy skin.  He lifted one bandaged hand to comb through her hair and was amazed the long copper strands felt like a unicorn’s mane.  His fingers were stiff, sore, dozens of cuts left unhealed, but he wasn’t going to let that stop him from holding her.

Harry felt reckless and wild, chasing an adrenal rush to outrun his heartbreak.  He dared to cup her breast, and _oh god,_ it was like shooting up a drug.  Part of him wanted Ginny to push him away, to get angry—he wanted her to hurt him.  The other part of Harry wanted to push himself, to drop his hang-ups about sex and love and suffocate in excess.  It would be a grand method of self-destruction. 

She moaned, a high pitched little “ohh” that raised gooseflesh across his arms.  Strange, how doing this with her could feel so good when he knew he was building layers of pain that would later peel.  Strange, how he could want this so intensely and how it made him want to hide from himself at the same time.

The door rattled.  Harry and Ginny sprung apart as they heard muffled voices on the other side:  “It’s stuck!” “Oh move back.  _Alohomora!_ ” “It still won’t go?” “What numpty would lock the door?!” “There must be multiple locks.  Let me try--”

Ginny quickly transfigured her robe back to normal and swung it on as she stepped into her shoes.  Harry knew if she were caught in the boys toilets she could get detention.  “Can you transfigure your skirt into trousers?” Harry asked.  “Maybe throw your hood up and I’ll distract them while you--”

Ginny stood on one of the sink counters and opened the overhead window.

Harry’s eyes widened.  “What are you doing?!  That’s a four story drop!”

She pulled herself up and sat side-saddle on the ledge.  She grinned at Harry.  “This isn’t my first window escape.”  She blew him a kiss and swung both legs over the ledge and fell from sight.

The door opened and four First Years—three Ravenclaws and a Slytherin—gaped to see _Harry freaking Potter_ had been the one locking people out. 

“Sorry,” Harry said, “All yours now!”  He tried to leave and the tiny group quickly plugged the doorway with their bodies. 

“Who were you talking to?” the Slytherin asked.

“It sounded like a girl’s voice,” added the shortest Ravenclaw.

“Why did you lock the door?” squeaked a spot-faced boy.

“Were you _doing stuff?_ ” the third Ravenclaw asked in wicked delight.

Harry raised his eyebrows at them.  “I’m leaving now.”

The Slytherin snickered, “There’s lipstick on your collar.”

Harry looked in the mirror and the boys laughed.  “We were just crankin’ ya!”  “So there really _was_ a girl in here!”  “Who is she?”  “Where’d she go?” 

Annoyed, Harry cast a gust of wind to sweep the boys to one side and walked out, ignoring their protestations.

*

The sun was deceitfully bright while a bitterly cold wind coughed at their backs.  Remus charmed the plot of land they were working on to be undisturbed by the symptoms of impending winter.  Currently, he had introduced white sand to the dark soil and was coaching Draco on the differences in manipulating the two types of earth magic by having him create a mandala with each substance.  Draco was taking insufferably long to perfect any flaw, but Remus had to admit: his control was impressive.

Harry approached them awkwardly and hoped no one would realize how long he had been gone.

Draco nodded toward the bandages.  “What happened to your hands?”

Harry shot a look at him.  “Don’t ask if you don’t care.”

With pinched lips, Draco spat, “Fine.”  He returned to his work, and Harry’s disappointment was like frostbite across his organs.

“Harry,” Remus began.  Harry squirmed at the tone, knowing he was in trouble.  “You were gone quite a bit longer than I expected.  And I see your hands require healing.  Care to explain?”

 Defensive, Harry said, “You’re the one who told me to go find Madam Pomfrey when I was so high I couldn’t walk straight!”

 "So you’re saying you spent this whole time trying to get to the hospital wing?”

 “Well, I mean, yeah.”

 “You must have hurt your hands on your way there, then.”

“…Yeah.”

“And Madam Pomfrey thought transfigured bandages would suffice without any healing charms?”

“I want to heal naturally,” Harry insisted.  Then he realized Remus had called out his lie.  “I mean, ‘transfigured’, psh, no…they aren’t transfigured.  This is hospital gauze.  Madam Pomfrey--”

Remus waved his wand; the bandages fell from the boy’s hands and landed to the ground in its original form.  “A Gryffindor tie,” Remus said with exaggerated surprise.  Harry scowled.  “Seeing as you’re still wearing yours, whose is this?”  Draco looked up from his mandala.  Harry remained sullenly silent.  “Don’t let me catch you skipping my class again,” Remus reprimanded.  A flick of his wand and all Harry’s cuts slurped shut.

“Don’t!”  Harry yelled, too late.  His hands were fully healed.  “You shouldn’t have done that!”  Harry was furious that his bodily autonomy was hijacked, and felt disproportionately angry and violated as the repressed emotions from Blaise’s attack siphoned through. 

“You have a lot to catch up on,” Remus said.  “Let’s begin.”

It took the remainder of class for Harry to calm down again, but Harry discovered that Earth magic was meditative.  He was surprised at how much he enjoyed using it and connecting to something so much bigger than himself.

At lunch, Harry went to the Great Hall and sat across from Ron and Hermione. 

A moment later, Ginny sat beside him.  He looked at her, and they smiled over their shared secret.

“The most ridiculous rumour has been going around since last period,” Ron began as he loaded up his plate.  He shook his head in amusement as he confided, “A bunch of bloody First Years are saying you locked yourself in the guys toilets with some girl.”

Harry grinned and turned to look at Ginny.  “How weird is that?”

“It’s so weird,” she teased back.

“Super weird.”

“The weirdest.”

Hermione slowly lowered her fork and placed it heavily on her napkin.  _No,_ she thought as apprehension bloated her gut.  She looked between her friends as if she were playing one of those “spot the difference” games and was alarmed to discover a glint in the eyes, a tilt of faces, softening lines around mouths.  _Oh no…_

“I know, right?!”  Ron snorted.  “Only a bunch of First Years would try creating a scandal with toilets.  Out of all the places to sneak a girl in Hogwarts, and that’s the best they could come up with…” 

“Ginny may I speak with you a moment?”  Hermione stood up anticipatorily.  Ginny stood and Hermione hurried around the Gryffindor table to be at her side.  The girls took a few paces away from the table before Hermione cast _muffliato_.  “Please tell me nothing happened with you and Harry?”

Ginny smiled with excitement.  “They broke up, it’s okay!”  Hermione moaned and covered her face in her hands.  “Don’t be like that,” Ginny said.  “I know Harry’s rebounding and he’s not ready for anything serious.  I’m not an idiot.”  She glanced back at Harry and sighed happily.  “But sometimes, a relationship can bloom from a rebound…at least he’s considering me now.”

Hermione lowered her hands, her face contrite.  “They didn’t break up,” she confessed.

Ginny’s head snapped back towards Hermione.  “What are you talking about?”

Hermione bit her lip.  “Look, you can’t say anything to Harry, alright?”  Ginny stared hard at her, unresponsive.  Hermione blurted out, “I altered Harry’s memory.  They aren’t broken up, he just thinks they are.”

“You what?!”  Ginny was outraged.  “Do you have any idea how miserable he is?”

“He agreed to it, I swear,” Hermione defended.  “I know it sounds terrible, and I can’t explain why, but Harry needs to believe Draco broke up with him.  Just for a few days, tops.”

Ginny shook her head.  “And Malfoy’s memory?  Is that altered, too?”

“No, he knows it’s all fake…”

Ginny folded her arms across her chest, willing the constriction in her throat to go away.  “I can’t believe you didn’t warn me.”

“I’m sorry, there’s been so much to deal with that I didn’t even think,” Hermione said.

“Do you have any idea how humiliating this is?”  Ginny glared at her.  “You’re supposed to be one of my best friends.  And you didn’t tell me?”  She lowered her voice.  “Now I’m _the other woman._   I feel disgusting.” 

“Ginny,” Hermione reached out to hug her but Ginny jerked back.

“What if Harry is so guilt-stricken about what we did that he never wants to talk to me again?  Or what if he gets his memory back and doesn’t believe that I didn’t know?!”  Ginny wailed.  Hermione tried to protest and Ginny yelled over top her, “You might have just ruined any chance I had with him!”

Ginny stormed away, quickly wiping the corners of her eyes that sprung angry tears of frustration and guilt.  She refused to sit idly by and accept being someone’s mistress; she had to make this right.

Dejected, Hermione turned back to the Gryffindor table and walked slowly to her seat.  She didn’t see Ginny march towards the Slytherin table.

Ginny tapped Draco sharply on the shoulder.  “Malfoy,” she clipped.  “Meet me in the library in ten minutes.”

With half-lidded eyes Draco drawled, “I admire your forwardness and good taste, but I’m already spoken for.”  Without breaking eye contact with her he lifted Pansy’s hand to kiss the top of it.

Ginny’s lip curled.  “I’d sooner hookup with a blast-ended skrewt.”

“Will it be a three-way with Hagrid?  I hear he’s one of the few blokes you haven’t slept with—yet.”

“Damnit, Malfoy,” Ginny grabbed a fistful of his robe and hauled him closer to her as she leaned down to whisper in his ear, “It’s about Harry.  If you care, be in the library in ten minutes.”  She shoved him back as she released his robe, and was gone before he had a chance to respond.

*

 _I don’t have time to deal with the She-Weasel and her rodentia antics,_ Draco thought as he stepped into the library.  His mouth set into a grim line when he saw her waiting.

She silently led him down a far removed aisle with dusty bookshelves for better privacy.  Satisfied they were alone, Ginny turned to him and stiffly said, “I asked you here because I owe you an apology.”

 _For what, the offense your face causes my eyes?_ Draco simply stared at her with a mask of bored impatience.

“My stupid friends didn’t tell me about your stupid plan,” she said.  Draco’s heart started to sink as some part of him put it all together before he could consciously realize what was going on.  “Harry and I…”  Unsure how to say it, she gave a little shrug.  “...we fooled around.”

Gravity suddenly seemed less inclined to tether him as Draco felt somewhere between falling and flying, uncontrolled, afraid and small against an endless gulf.

“If I’d known you two were still technically a thing, I wouldn’t have done it.  No matter how I feel about him, I don’t steal other people’s boyfriends.”

Draco felt his mask begin to crumble and wondered why on earth she was still talking.

“I wanted to be upfront with you, and tell you I’m sorry and that I’m backing off.”  Ginny felt cleanly absolved for about two seconds before registering the look in his eyes.  _Oh shit, does Malfoy actually have a heart?_   With horror, she realized he was close to tears.  She had assumed Malfoy was just using Harry before marrying whatever girl his parents chose.  But he looked positively devastated right now.  “I’m really sorry,” she said again, this time with sympathy for him instead of the desire to clear her integrity.

His voice cracking, he asked her gently, “Who initiated?”

“I did,” she lied.  “It was all me.”

“You Gryffindors are the worst liars I’ve ever known,” he said with a dry laugh.  He wiped his eyes.

“No, really,” she tried to assert.  “And I swear, we didn’t even go that far--”

“Stop,” Draco said quickly.  “I really don’t think I can hear it.”

Ginny searched his face, astonished at the depth of feeling she read there.  “Malfoy, seriously, I’m so sorry.  I didn’t tell you to be hurtful.  This was supposed to be reassuring.  Cuz I’m not a threat, you see?  I’m backing off.”

Draco wanted to reply, but his throat was swollen and closing.  He gave a little nod and then rushed out of the library.

*

In the Dynamics Room, Draco sat on his desk, feet dangling above the floor.  Anger and pain chased each other through his chest as he waited for Harry.

The door clicked open and Draco slowly raised his head.  Harry immediately became concerned when he saw the boy’s face.  “What happened?”  Harry asked as he approached.

“Ginny,” Draco said, voice numb.  Harry froze.  Every second that passed compressed Draco’s feelings into tighter, more unyielding forms.  “Was she some pathetic attempt to reclaim your heterosexuality?”

“Don’t be vulgar.” 

“Don’t fuck girls in toilets.”

“I didn’t.”

Draco inhaled sharply, and in a dangerous voice he said slowly, “Don’t lie.  She told me you two fooled around.”  
  
Harry felt his face heat up.  _Why the fuck was Ginny running to Draco and telling him that stuff?_ “We made out, that’s it.”

Draco shook his head.  “Don’t try to minimize.”  
  
“I’m not--”

“You wanted to be with her before me, but you told yourself you couldn’t have her.  We break up, and the next day you think you can.  It doesn’t matter how far you got—it means the same thing.  I was nothing but an interruption in the Great Love Story between the Boy-Who-Lived and the Girl-Who-Waited.”

“That’s not true—” Harry reached out to him but Draco hopped off the desk and pushed Harry away from him. 

“Don’t,” Draco snarled.  “You broke my trust, you broke my heart.  I have nothing left but pieces, and if you reach for them I will cut you.”  He slammed the classroom door as he left.

Draco bore through the hall, shouldering past people who didn’t move out of the way in time, not caring who it was. 

Until he found Ron and Hermione. 

Draco smiled sharply and approached them.  He clapped a hand on Ron’s shoulder.  “Just the weasel I wanted to see.” 

Ron was confused, but smiled back at him.  “And why would that be?”

“Since you had my back last night, the very least I could do is return the favour,” Draco said.  His hand squeezed at Ron’s shoulder and he leaned in conspiratorially.  “Especially since, it would appear, I’m your only honest friend.”

“See now you’ve ruined it,” Ron shrugged out of the boy’s grip.  “You can’t just act all buddy-buddy and call my friends liars.”

“So they’ve told you then?”

Ron couldn’t help looking at Hermione.  “…Told me what?”  Ron noticed her eyes brighten as her clever mind spun for something to say, noticed her shift her weight to her other side—and realized she was about to lie to him.  He turned away from her as she opened her mouth and repeated the question to Draco.  “Told me what?”

“About your sister—”

“Class is about to start,” Hermione squeaked in a panic, tugging at Ron’s elbow. 

Ron brusquely pulled his arm away from her.  “Then go ahead.”  He stared at her in challenge.  He was sick of people keeping secrets from him.  When she didn’t move, he asked, “What about my sister?”  

“Nothing,” Hermione insisted. 

Draco watched Ron, wanting to feel every texture of the imminent collapse.  “Harry and Ginny hooked up.”

Ron laughed nervously.  “Yeah, right,” he scoffed.  The seriousness in Draco’s eyes made him pause.  The silence from Hermione drew his attention and he turned to look at her. 

She was glaring at the Slytherin.  Her voice low with anger, she said slowly, “I know that news must have hurt you, but you have no right using it to hurt Ron.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?!”  Ron barked at Hermione.  The outburst startled her.  “Harry and I have been best mates for over five years, and if he’s going after my sister don’t you think I should know about it?”

“They were sorting it out privately,” Hermione defended. 

“ _Sorting it out_?” Ron repeated in a bit of a shriek. 

“Keep your voice down--”

“What the bloody hell does ‘sorting it out’ mean?!”  Ron was suddenly puffed up to look about twice his size.  “If there’s a broken heart involved I’m going to kill someone!”

“Does mine count?”  Draco asked.

Ron looked at him.  “You know what?  Yeah.  It counts,” he said, surprising himself. 

Hermione groaned.  “Don’t you see what he’s doing?!  He’s only telling you because he knows it’ll hurt Harry!”

“That’s part of it,” Draco admitted casually.  “I’m vindictive as fuck.  But the other part is that Ron legitimately deserves to know what’s going on behind his back.”

“ _Thank you,_ ” Ron said emphatically.  He shook his head at Hermione.  “I can’t believe Malfoy has more respect for me than you do.”

“Ron…”

Cutting her off, Ron turned to Draco.  “Let’s go somewhere and strategize about what to do with all this.”

"I’m in,” Draco agreed.

“Ron!”  Hermione called out as the boys disappeared down the hall.  Riddled with anxiety, she willed herself to let them go as she hurried to class.

*

Ron and Draco went to the library, taking over a study table in the back that could only be seen if you went down a specific row of bookshelves.  Ron cast _muffliato_ around the entire table and flopped down messily into one of the chairs, leaning it on its back legs.  “My best friend and my sister.”  He made a retching sound.

“My sentiments exactly.”

Ron let the chair fall forward and sat up.  “Do you know what they—I mean, they didn’t—?” 

“He says ‘made out’, she says ‘fooled around’ but ‘not that far’.”

“—Wait.  You mean they _both_ told you before telling me?!”

“More like she confessed in a flurry of guilt and I confronted Harry.”

“I can’t believe they both pretended they didn’t know what I was talking about when I brought up the toilets rumour.  Fuck, I don’t know which of them I’m angrier with.”

“They wanted to be together before Harry and I made it,” Draco admitted softly.

“What?!”

Draco stared at the tabletop.  “Yeah.  They had a romantic talk in the Astronomy Tower.  I dunno if that was their first kiss or not—” Ron made a choking noise and Draco continued.  “—Maybe they’ve snogged plenty before.  Harry’s been at the Burrow with you for half the summer right?  He could’ve snuck into her room while you slept…”

“No conspiracy theories,” Ron interjected quickly.  “You’ll drive us both round the bend if you go on that way.  The facts are bad enough as they are.”

“Fine.  They kissed in the Tower.  And apparently, he never really let her go.”  His voice shrunk. 

“What does it say about how he feels about me if his immediate reaction to our ‘breakup’ is to take comfort between her legs?”

“Oy!  That’s my baby sister you’re talking about!” Ron yelped indignantly.  Draco stared at him unflinchingly, waiting for an answer.  Ron sighed and rubbed the back of his neck.  “I dunno,” he said, awkward, gentle.  “Did you ask him?”

“If by ‘ask’ you mean ‘made accusations and fled’, then yes.”

“That sounds healthy.”

“Blaise has been manipulating me for months and I didn’t have a clue,” Draco said.  “I don’t know how to trust my own judgement anymore.  What if Harry lies and I buy into it like a fool?  What if he tells the truth—and it turns out I’m just a substitute for something he can’t have?”

“Why is it both scenarios have you convinced that he doesn’t really want you?”

Shame drew Draco’s eyes downward.  “Because hope and faith are terrifying when they show you how much you could lose.”

“Alright, look,” Ron began authoritatively.  “I get that you’re jealous, but Harry wouldn’t date you if he wanted to be with someone else.  That’s not who he is.  Whatever’s going on right now – I think it’s just him being an idiot.  He does that.  A lot.”  Draco smiled.  “He’s gonna need you to suck up your insecurities and have a little faith, cuz I’m ready to kill him.”

“That sounds healthy,” Draco parroted.

“I’m serious,” Ron said.  “Ginny has celebrity-hero-worshipped him for forever, and she was finally coming down to earth about it all last year.  But that doesn’t mean she isn’t susceptible to old patterns.  She could get really wrecked over this.  He should know better.”  He let out a frustrated growl.  “It’s not okay.”

“You’re right,” Draco said.  “It’s really not.”

“You’re just saying that because it suits your purposes.”

“It absolutely does, but that’s not why I’m saying it,” Draco said.  “Geez, you and Granger and your assumptions.  I can be selfish and sincere at the same time, okay?”  He smiled.  “In fact, I’m typically at my most sincere when I’m also being selfish.”  Ron smiled back and Draco continued.  “Before this whole Ginny thing went down, Harry’s alliance was to you.  He wanted to be your best mate, your brother-in-arms, your family.  If he dates Ginny, it shifts his position to wanting to be part of her family, instead of part of your family.  There’s a difference.”

“Yeah!” Ron exclaimed, having been unable to put it into words himself and feeling vindicated that someone understood him.

Suddenly, Vince barreled towards them.  Ron tensed.  He still didn’t know what to make of Malfoy’s henchmen.

“Beat it, Weasley,” Vince demanded as he joined their table.  “I didn’t use a locater spell for your sorry ass.  I have something important to talk to Draco about.”

“It’s okay,” Draco assured the Slytherin.  “I trust him.”

Ron leaned back with a smug smile at Crabbe, who in return gave him a beady-eyed stare of suspicion.  Crabbe looked back at Draco and added warningly, “It’s about Blaise.”

“Then I’m definitely staying,” Ron said with a faint snarl in his throat.  He hated Blaise more than he hated Umbridge, and if there was news he was damn well going to know about it.

“Sit.  Tell us,” Draco directed.

Vince grimaced and sat next to his friend.  “Okay,” he muttered, glancing briefly at Ron before focusing on Draco.  “So I had a free period and figured what better way to spend it than trashing Blaise’s room?”

“Respect,” Ron nodded.

Vince cracked a smile at him.

Draco smacked Vince in the arm.  “You idiot!  What if you’d gotten caught??”

“I didn’t!”  Vince said, as if that were the only argument necessary.  Draco rolled his eyes.  “So I’m in there, basically destroying everything in sight, when I found something…disturbing.”  He carefully reached inside his robe and placed a round crystal bottle on the desk. 

Draco quickly noted the potion’s distinctive mother-of-pearl sheen and uncorked the bottle.  Steam rose in spirals, and a very familiar scent greeted him. 

“What is it?”  Ron asked.

Unable to resist the moment, Draco held the bottle of Amortentia towards Ron and asked, “What does this smell like to you?”

Ron leaned forward and took a whiff.  “Uh, blackberries, and parchment...and petrichor.  Ink, maybe?  I dunno, why?”

Draco innocently asked, “Does it remind you of anyone?”

Crabbe added, “Yeah, like your mom?”  He snorted trying to suppress his own laugh, and Draco elbowed him in the ribs.  Crabbe elbowed him back and the two boys were quaking with repressed laughter.

Ron looked between them, not understanding the joke at all.  “Hang on, if this potion smells like someone, is he planning to hurt them?!  Because this is exactly what Hermione smells like.”

“Aww,” Draco teased.  “You’re gonna get so many points for that.  I’ll be sure to tell her.”

“What are you going on about?” 

“This is Amortentia,” Draco explained.  “It’s a love potion.  It smells different to everyone, conveying the scent who or what attracts you.”

Ron felt his ears burn as he realized he just admitted how much he liked Hermione.  Defensively, he turned to Crabbe and hollered, “You suggested my _mom_?!”

Vince laughed unapologetically and Ron found it strangely infectious.  Struggling not to grin, he focused on the potion.  “Why the hell would Blaise bother with Amortentia when he’s got his Charm?”

Draco grimaced.  “His Charm doesn’t work on me—well, on Harry’s body, I should say.  Looks like he isn’t planning on giving me much time to get over ‘breaking up’ with Harry.” He made a scoffing noise. 

“I wanted you to identify it, just to be sure,” Vince said.  “Given my record with potions.”

“I was gonna say,” Draco teased.  “Good job.”

Vince had known it was something dangerous when he discovered it hidden away in Blaise’s sock drawer.  You don’t bother hiding homework assignments.  Vince smiled a little sadly at his friend.  “Yeah…I was pretty sure, unless Charlene’s perfume was an ingredient, heh…”  Draco gave him an understanding nod.  Vince took out his wand and cleared his throat.  “Alright, now that it’s confirmed, let’s get rid of it--”

Draco quickly put his hand over his friend’s and forced him to lower his wand.  “Whoa, what are you doing?!”

“Gonna _Evanesco_ the thing.  Duh.”

“That’s _not_ how you dispose of potions,” Draco said with so much disapproval and reprimand that Ron could almost hear Hermione’s voice.  He snickered; the Slytherins ignored him.  “You can’t Vanish anything with a soul, and it’s dangerous to Vanish magic itself.  You never use _Evanesco_ on potions!”

“I’ve done it before,” Vince grumbled.

Draco huffed.  “If you had read the Wilkins-Attisol theories on the effects of magical excitation generated within the void, you’d know that Vanishing potions has the potential to construct explosive fields subject to the inverse-square law, consequently creating rips within the void, leaking zero-matter into our reality, effectively threatening to vanish existence itself.”

“My dad says that’s a conspiracy theory.”

“And Snape says we never Vanish potions!”

“ _Fine._   We’ll pour it down the drain.”

Draco looked fiercely scandalized before realizing his friend was teasing.  He swatted him on the arm again.  “You nutter,” he said playfully.  “Let’s go get rid of this.” 

The Slytherins stood.  Ron joined them half a beat behind, his brow furrowed in thought.  “I’ve seen Snape Vanish potions before,” he said.

Draco rolled his eyes.  “Aftermath messes, and the incorrectly or incompletely brewed don’t count.”

“Oh.”

Draco began walking and Vince fell into faithful step alongside him.  Ron uneasily flanked Malfoy’s other side and asked, “So, do we even know how to do this, or are we looking for a book?”

“I know how,” Draco asserted proudly.  “Last year, I spent time volunteering with Snape after classes.”

Ron snickered, “Does ‘volunteering’ mean ‘detention’?”

Vince laughed.  Draco gave a haughty _huff_ and said, “He’s my godfather, he would never assign me detention!”

Ron raised an eyebrow at him.  “So, what…you actually chose to spend your time free from school, doing extra schoolwork?”  He shook his head.  “That’s just not right.”

“I like learning,” Draco sneered.  “It’s how you excel at something.”

The three boys snuck outside, careful to avoid Filch or Peeves who would surely make trouble for them being out of class.  As they exited the castle, they squinted against the glare of the afternoon sun.  Draco led them across the courtyard.  “We can use the same spot Snape always uses for student potions.  It has all the preliminary charms set up; we just have to cast the blessing and then we can dispose of it safely.”

Vince casually tossed the potion upward and caught it again.  Ron muttered, “If you drop that thing and it breaks…”

“Relax,” Vince said.  “I may not be a Seeker but I can handle a catch.”  He threw it again, just to annoy Ron. 

Unfortunately, it was also annoying Draco.  “Point proven, now knock it off.”

Sulking, Vince stopped tossing it.

They walked, and Vince felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.  He looked around, but saw nothing out of the ordinary.  “Guys,” he said, pausing on the grass.

Realizing Vince was no longer beside him, Draco stopped and turned to him.  “What?”

“…I don’t know,” Vince muttered, feeling foolish.  “Just…we should go back.  Now.”

Ron raised his eyebrows.  “Go back, and what?  Keep the potion lying around?  That’s stupid.”

“You’re stupid,” Vince shot back.  He was getting more and more unnerved the longer they stood outside. 

“C’mon Vince, it’s just by the edge of the Clocktower,” Draco said.  His friend didn’t move.  Draco took a step toward him and in a quieter voice asked, “Did you have a vision?”

Vince glared at him, angry that Draco would mention it in front of Weasley.  He swallowed hard.  “Not…exactly,” he grit out.  “Just…a feeling.”  His face took on an imploring look as he tried to explain, tried to make Draco understand.  “Something’s about to begin.”

Impatiently, Ron continued walking towards the Clocktower.  “Whatever.  Don’t come if you’re scared.  This isn’t a three person job anyway.”

Vince clutched the glass in his hands.  Draco searched his face.  “Are you coming with us, or not?”

Vince looked around again, wishing he could see what the problem was.  Everything looked perfectly bland.  “Yeah,” he sighed.  “I’m coming.”

*

Professor Binns floated at the front of his History of Magic class, droning on as half his pupils napped on their desks.  Blaise propped his head up with one hand as he gazed out the window, bored and seeking distraction.  Suddenly he saw Draco, Vince, and Weasley scurrying across the courtyard.  _Strange combination,_ he thought.  The sun caught a glint of something being tossed in the air.  Vince was throwing and catching a round crystal bottle.

Blaise’s breath caught in his throat.  He recognized that bottle.

Without so much as a “Sir may I be excused”, Blaise simply got up and left the classroom.  His professor never even noticed.

*

Draco led them to the west wall of the Clocktower.  “There,” he said, pointing to the earth lined against the castle wall.  Unlike most of the soil around Hogwarts which was moist and rich, this area was grey, fine particles of dirt that more closely resembled dust.

Vince drew his wand.  “Do you need me to cast it?  Just tell me what to do.” 

“No, I should be able to, I think,” Draco said.  He was secretly grateful that Remus had begun earth magic with him that morning; he felt he had more of an edge than he otherwise would have.  He drew his wand and began chanting.

A thick, hairy spider descended the castle stones and fell directly into eye level.  Ron jolted backwards reflexively.  With nervous laughter, Vince crowed, “You’re scared of spiders!?”

Ron’s ears went red.  “Better than being afraid of my own bloody shadow!”

“It’s not a shadow,” Vince said defensively.  “It’s worse than anything I have a name for.  And if we don’t hurry and get outta here, it will begin.”

“WooOOOooo,” Ron intoned, waggling his fingers at the boy.  “Scaaaaaary!”

“ _Engorgio!”_  Vince cast at the spider.  “ _Wingardium Leviosa!_ ”

Ron yelped as Vince directed the arachnid (now the size of a pumpkin) to chase him through the air.  Ron leapt back and thrust his wand out.  He needed three tries before landing a _Finite!_ on the spider.

They didn’t see Blaise rush towards them until it was too late.  “Don’t move!” He said, quickly Charming Ron and Vince.  They froze.

Draco whipped around.  Almost in perfect sync, Draco and Blaise cast against the other.  Sour yellow hexes flew between them—both hit their marks. 

Blaise felt all five fingers plop off his dominant hand and land like plastic toys to the ground, his wand clattering with them.  He stared at the clean, smooth stump of his hand with a mixture of outrage and shock.

Draco’s robes burst into flames.  He dropped his wand before the wood itself caught fire and frantically shucked the robe off.  Vince couldn’t move as the dry grass caught flame and clawed towards him, seeming to crackle his name:  _Crabbe, Crabbe, Crabbe…_

While Draco was extinguishing the flames, Blaise summoned both wands to himself and reattached his fingers.  He slid Draco’s wand into his wand holster.  “Just when I thought you and I were getting a second chance,” he chided.  Vince heaved a shakey sigh of relief as Draco beat out the last of the fire.  His heart was still pounding, unconvinced that he was safe.

Draco had minor burns at his shoulders and across his right forearm, but adrenaline prevented him from feeling the worst of it.  He glared at Blaise.

Blaise kept his wand aimed at Draco as he walked to Vince.  “Give me the bottle.”

Vince extended it to him, and Blaise was relieved to see the potion had not been emptied.  “Crabbe, Weasley, hands against the wall.”  Both boys turned to face the Clocktower and laid their palms against the stones.  Ron couldn’t help looking around for where the hell that spider landed…

“I’d hoped to wait a few days, see if you’d come to me naturally.  I was only going to give you help if I had to,” Blaise said to Draco, indicating the potion.  “But since we’re at this junction…Drink.”  He held the bottle out.

Draco reached forward and took the bottle.  He smirked as he uncorked it, holding it over the dusty ground—

“Oh good, an excuse to do this,” Blaise said, and with the speed of a serpent he took his dagger from his hip and stabbed it into Vince’s hand.  The boy screamed.

“Leave him alone!” Draco yelled, his stomach rolling at the sight of the dagger impaling his friend’s hand.

“Drink.”  Blaise tilted the handle sadistically to one side, then to the other.

“Don’t,” Vince grit, then swore a blue streak as Blaise tilted the handle again.

“Okay, alright, just stop!”  Draco cried out. 

Blaise smiled.  “Do it now, or I’ll break his other hand.”

“He can’t,” Ron said quickly.  “Zabini, listen.  Potions don’t work properly with the Switch.  Harry tried something and it nearly burned his mind out!”

“This is different,” Blaise snapped.  “This is just resetting him to where he’s supposed to be.”  Staring at Draco, he repeated: “Drink.”

Draco grimaced, and downed the drink.  Blaise rushed forward, holding Draco’s face between his palms, forcing the boy to see only him as he swallowed the potion.  For a moment, Draco stared at him silently. 

The pain was unlike anything he’d ever felt.

Draco screamed, his body crumpling under him.  Blaise felt him begin to fall and moved with him to reduce the impact.  He knelt in the grass as Draco writhed and wailed.  Blaise tried grabbing his shoulders to still him, asking him what was happening, but Draco couldn’t answer.  He just held his head and screamed and screamed…

“He needs the antidote, _now!_ ” Ron bellowed.

“Why the hell would I have made an antidote?!”  Blaise yelled back.  He tried to shake Draco’s shoulder.  “Draco, stop it, what’s wrong?  Stop screaming!”

“It’s here,” Vince whispered.  “It’s begun.”

Blaise looked around the field.  No one was coming yet, but surely someone would hear Draco soon… “Fuck this,” he said, releasing his Charm on Vince and Ron and dropping Draco’s wand to the grass.  “You deal with him.”  He ran back into the castle.

Vince gripped the handle of the dagger and held his breath and he jerked the blade free from his hand.  “ _Fuck!_ "  He cradled his hand to his chest.

“Give it here,” Ron said impatiently.  Vince held out his hand and Ron charmed it healed; in his rush, an ugly scar remained.  “C’mon, we gotta get him--”  But before he could finish, Draco went still and silent. 

“Malfoy?”  Ron asked, quickly kneeling at his side and checking his pulse.  Green eyes flew open and the boy gasped for air.  He looked wildly around and sat up quickly.  “It’s okay,” Ron assured him.  “He’s gone.  Are you okay?”

“…Hogwarts?”  He asked disbelievingly.

Ron looked at Vince.  “Yeahhh,” he said, drawing the word out slowly.  “Remember, you wanted to come to the Clocktower?”

Green eyes narrowed.  “Why?”

Vince reached a hand out to help him up.  “Cuz your ex-boyfriend is a psychopath.”

“My _what?”_   He took the hand offered and stood.  Ron stood as well.  The disoriented boy looked down at himself.  Dark hands.  Strange scars.  “This is not my body…”

“Well, no,” Vince scoffed.  “Remember?  You and Potter got bit by the Switch?”

“That’s impossible,” he sneered.  “I killed the Potters.”

Everything stilled.  Vince stared, confusion and fear rising.  Everyone knew exactly who killed the Potters.  Could Draco truly be possessed by the Dark Lord? 

Ron’s eyes widened in sudden recognition-- _Horcrux._  

Green eyes flicked to Ron, and immediately both saw the threat the other posed. 

“ _Accio_ wand!”  Ron cast towards Malfoy’s wand in the grass, thinking to keep him disarmed.  But the Switch’s power combined with the might of a Horcrux meant no need for a wand’s conduit.

“ _Crucio!_ ”  The curse blast from open palm and hit Ron in the chest.  The Gryffindor fell to the ground convulsing.

“My Lord, someone will hear,” Vince warned, voice weak with fear, terrified his impudence would be punished and hoping his pathetic protest was enough to save his schoolmate.

The curse ended abruptly.  Ron lay panting, twitching…his mouth filled with blood, but he couldn’t make the effort to lift his head to spit.  He let it drool out.

“Tell me everything,” the beast said.  Its voice was smooth and low, so calm, a hint of pleasure in its depth.

Ron smiled, felt the blood coat his teeth, and met its gaze.  “You failed,” he said.  “You couldn’t kill Harry Potter.  That’s whose body you’re riding.  No one knows what happened…you cast the killing curse, and it bounced back—and you were gone.  For a decade, you were gone.”

“I’ve slept for a decade?”

“No—you’ve slept almost fifteen years.”  Ron gasped.  “Oh…”  He laughed.  “Oh, you think you’re Him, don’t you?”  He laughed again.  “You’re not.  He made so many Horcruxes, that His soul was fragile.  You splintered off from Him, and bonded to Harry.  You’re not Him – you’re just another Horcrux.  Just a broken piece of the real man.  You’re nothing.”

“I’ll show you ‘broken’,” it crooned.  “ _Crucio!_ ”

Vince watched as Ron’s body twisted into unnatural positions, his mouth opened as if he were screaming – but nothing came out. 

The beast smiled at the Slytherin.  “I’ve muted his agony in favour of hearing you.”  Vince gulped.  “What is your name?”

“Crabbe,” he said, voice shaking.  “Vincent.”

“Ahh, yes.  Edward Crabbe’s son?” 

Vince nodded.  He slid his hands inside his robe to hide their shaking.

“Excellent.  Your father was a faithful servant to me—to Him, to us.”  It paused.  “And what of this fellow on the ground?”  It looked down at Ron, a curl at its lips as it enjoyed the show.

Vince stole a glance at Ron.  The cruciatus curse only needed minutes for permanent damage, insanity, or death.  How long could he endure?  “Ron Weasley.  Son of Arthur Weasley.”

The beast looked at Vince curiously.  “Are you his friend?”

“I--” Vince stammered, not knowing how to answer something so dangerous.  He looked worriedly back at Ron.  “I mean, not really…But he’s useful.”  He held his breath.

“Hmm.”  The beast looked back at Ron.  The curse stopped.  A high pitched, tiny whine squeezed through deflating lungs...all Ron could think of was his mother singing to him. 

The beast used its toe to move the boy from his face-down position onto his side.  “You know how clear everything is within a dream, and how upon waking, memory slips away like water through fingers?”  It remembered dreaming—an old man’s hand blacked and cracked from the force of a ring; doors that wouldn’t open; becoming a snake, fangs sinking into victims; and a feeling.  Something intense, powerful.  A girl.

It knelt down to peer closely into Ron’s face.  His eyes were unfocused, rolling back.  It slapped him.  “I haven’t said you could leave yet.”  Small sparks of fear and anger returned to light the boy’s eyes.  The beast smiled.  “Your hair.  You remind me of a dream.”  The beast closed its eyes, straining to reach the details rapidly washing away.  “Ginevra.  Ginny.  She was important.”  It opened its eyes.  “Do you know her?”

Ron’s face was unreadable stone as he defiantly said, “Never heard of her.”

The beast reached out with its magic to read the boy’s mind, but it barely tickled the surface when it felt the full force of the Amortentia crest and threaten drowning.  It pulled back from the Ron’s mind and re-focused on keeping the potion—and its host—hidden deep away.  “Pity,” the beast intoned.  “Then you are of no value.”  It stood and for the final time cast the cruciatus curse on Ron.  It took only another minute before his body arched higher than ever and slumped into defeat.  Ron’s eyes dulled, unseeing.  A dark stain spread across his groin as his bladder released itself.  The beast maintained the curse a moment longer, but the boy didn’t move.  It ended the curse and sighed.  “There,” it whispered reverently.  “Do you see?”  It asked Vince, who was struggling to appear calm.  “Bodies are disgusting.  Messy.  Full of snot, mucus, spit, ear wax and eye crusts, holding you hostage to the needs of sexuality and food and excrement.  But now?  This moment…when a body teeters between life and death, that flickering…that’s the only time a body becomes beautiful.”

“Is he…?” 

The beast smiled at Vince and with mocking concern asked, “Was this your first time?” 

Vince blinked back tears.  _I told you,_ he begged the body for forgiveness, _I told you we needed to leave._  

The beast clapped a hand on the boy’s shoulder.  “Take me to Severus Snape.”


	23. Sing Me A Song

**Chapter Twenty Three: Sing Me A Song**

“Tell me about Harry Potter.”

Vince’s legs felt like rubber as he led the beast through his school towards Professor Snape’s Defense class.  “He’s sixteen,” he began, voice dry, “A Gryffindor.  He’s on the Quidditch team…”  Vince realized these were not the answers the beast was looking for.  He’d witnessed what it did to those who couldn’t prove their value.  He racked his brain for something he could give.  “He hates Snape.”  _No, still not good enough,_ he thought in a panic.  “--And he can resist Imperio.”

“Really?”  The beast’s eyes glinted.

“Yeah, I’ve seen him do it!”  Vince added. 

Suddenly he was slammed against the wall, choking as his windpipe was crushed.  “You understand that if you play me, you will die.”  Vince’s eyes bulged out and he did his best to nod rapidly.  The beast let him linger a moment before slowly easing the pressure from his neck.  “Potions are taught near the dungeons.  It’s tradition.  Yet you continue to lead me away.  Explain.”

“He-he’s not teaching Potions this year!”  Vince croaked.  “He finally got the Defense Against the Dark Arts post he’s always bitched about wanting!”

“Has he, now?”  The beast released him and Vince gasped for air.  It wondered why Dumbledore would allow his ‘reformed’ pet to take a position cursed to expel its leader within the year…Had Dumbledore lost faith in Severus Snape?  “Continue.”

Shakey, Vince dragged himself onward to the Defense room. 

“You alluded to a body swap when I was waking.  Who shares this body with me?”

Vince gulped.  “Draco Malfoy.”  His stomach twisted in guilt. 

The beast grinned.  “Lucius Malfoy’s son!”  A soft sound almost like a laugh blew through his nostrils.  “Oh, the fun we will have!”

Vince felt panic shake his knees.  He wished he’d had Ron’s courage to lie.  His breathing became shallow at the thought of Ron, and he focused on emptying his mind and placing one foot in front of the other…

Too soon, they reached the Defense class.  “This is it,” Vince said, shuffling from foot to foot.  _Please let me go,_ he thought.   

“After you,” the beast said.  Vince shrunk inside and the beast entered like a king.

The Ravenclaw/Hufflepuff split class of Year Fours looked quizzically at the two Slytherins approaching their professor.  Snape whirled to face the interruption and bristled to see such audacity come from two members of his own damn House.  “Office hours begin at four,” he grated with deep irritation. 

The beast went up to Snape and deliberately gripped his arm over the Dark Mark.  It burned in recognition of its Master.  “I require your service before then.”

Snape stared.  Only the Dark Lord could affect the Mark this way—so how was this possible?  Without breaking eye contact, he announced to his students, “Class dismissed.  Any student lingering in the next thirty seconds will have thirty points deducted from their House.  Each.”

Students scrambled to grab book bags and rush out the door.  Snape didn’t dare look away from the beast.  The professor kept a cool veneer as his blood pressure rose.  He was desperately trying to compile an explanation-- _The Dark Lord was able to possess Harry at the Battle of the Ministry…but only for minutes.  Perhaps the Dark Lord has taken Polyjuice potion –appearing as Harry Potter would make it easy to infiltrate the school and assassinate Dumbledore…_

As the final students scurried out, Snape flicked his wand to shut the door. 

The beast released its hold on its servant’s arm and strode toward a cabinet against the far wall.  “Speculo,” it cast quietly.  The cabinet door transformed into a mirror.  The beast stepped close, inspecting every inch of its new reflection.  “The boy is small,” it commented disapprovingly.  “And not overly-pleasing to look at.”  Its attention riveted on the lightning shaped scar on its forehead.  “Is that—” its breath caught as it realized _yes,_ that was the mark of its creation.  The sharp pink lines made the beast uneasy.  It pivoted, done with the mirror, and took slow steps toward Snape.

“I require your assistance and knowledge in order to reassert myself in the world.  By necessity, this means confiding sensitive information which will be obliviated from you later.”  Its eyes were seaglass, a cold and cloudy green.  “You will help me, and I will choose how much of this day you retain.”  It now stood directly before Snape.  “Say you understand.”

“I understand, my Lord,” Severus said, utterly confused as his Polyjuice premise dissolved.

The beast paused, staring hard at the man.  “Do you know the word ‘Horcrux’?”

Snape gave a slight nod.  “I’m familiar with the theory.”

“It’s no theory,” the beast said.  “I’ve done it.”

Snape did not move.  “You…”  He kept his words tightly reigned.  “…created a Horcrux?”

“No,” the beast corrected.  “I created Horcruxes.”

Snape considered the beast’s words, ‘ _to reassert myself in the world’,_ how it examined the body it wore as if it had never seen it before... The air felt solid, keeping Snape firmly molded to the spot.  His voice lowered as he said the impossible.  “…You are a Horcrux.”

“Very good,” it said.  It was genuinely pleased; Severus had always been a clever man, and he did not disappoint.

“But…why is it you’ve only woken now?”

A crooked smile tugged at the beast.  “Amortentia, of all things,” it said with equal parts amusement and disgust.  It turned to Vince.  “What is the name of the boy who poisoned me?” 

“Blaise Zabini,” Vince supplied immediately.

The beast frowned, unable to place the family name—the only Zabini it remembered was a woman.  Children don’t take their mother’s names.  The beast clipped, “I want him dead.”

“Surely if his actions were what woke you, any indignity from a love potion can be overlooked?”  Snape braced himself for punishment.  Vince held his breath, shocked at his professor’s bravery and afraid of what retribution might come.

“His intent was not to revive me,” the beast dismissed, “Therefore I will grant him no mercy.”  It could still feel the potion burning the edges of its mind.  “I have to maintain a constant barricade against its effects.  If I attempt to extend my consciousness to read the thoughts of another, the potion becomes a tide.  That boy poisoned me!” It snarled.  “I will turn his bones to blades and laugh as the weight of his meat bears down and cuts him open from the inside out!”

Snape nodded.  “Of course, my Lord.  I will bring him to you myself.”  He made fast calculations and took a risk.  “It’s unthinkable that your abilities should ever be limited.  Allow me to brew the antidote.”

The beast was surprised at the desperation within to be rid of the _burning_.  It had never been one to fear pain but it could sense that, somehow, this potion could pose a mortal threat.  “Yes, fine.”

With a flourishing swish of his cloak, Snape turned and sat at his desk.  He opened the top drawer.  He kept preliminary materials for a wide variety of healing tonics—teaching Defense often meant injuries, and Snape preferred to treat them immediately rather than send his students away to the hospital wing.  He began selecting ingredients and setting them atop his desk.  “It was my understanding that a Horcrux should never be placed into an organic vessel,” Severus said as he took out a small peeling knife and marble dish.  “Forgive me, my Lord, but why risk it?  And why choose your prophesized vanquisher to receive such a gift?  Don’t you want him dead?”

“You are here to answer my questions.  Not the other way around.”

“Of course, my Lord.”

“When I woke, there was a boy named Ronald Weasley.  I extracted what little he knew before killing him.” 

Snape did not react; he continued mixing.  Vince closed his eyes and willed himself invisible.

The beast continued, “Apparently, my ‘Other’, for lack of better term, has returned some five-plus years ago.  Tell me: what has He accomplished?”

Snape considered.  “He has had significant challenges in acquiring a corporeal body; He achieved this only a year ago.  He had his most loyal Death Eaters broken out of Azkaban, gained a valuable ally within the Ministry named Dolores Umbridge, and tortured the wandmaker Ollivander to learn what connection exists between his wand and Harry Potter’s.”

The beast raised its eyebrows.  “And?”

“My Lord?”

“And what else?”  It raised its lips slightly, baring its teeth.  “Surely He has done more in _ne_ _arly six years_?”  Snape said nothing.  _Has my Other lost all focus, all sense of direction?_ The beast wondered.  “Before my split, I had an army of secret supporters.  Every week ushered news of deaths, disappearances, tortures.  Terror was everywhere.  We forged alliances with giants and werewolves, and killed scores of muggles to raise their bodies as our Inferi army.  Between Imperius and espionage, we nearly conquered the Ministry itself.”  It paused, wondering if its Other were damaged the night the Potters died—after all, creating a Horcrux was meant to be a clean purposeful cut, while its creation was a ragged tear by blunt trauma.  What if it, the Horcrux, possessed the larger portion of soul than its so-called originator? 

Snape held out a vial of clear liquid.  “This shall restore you.”  He hoped Draco could hear his words and know they were meant for him.

The beast took it and beckoned Vince forward.  “You drink half,” it said with a smile at Snape.  “A test of your loyalties.”

Vince reached out and took the vial.  He swallowed carefully and waited.  Nothing happened.

“Alright, give it to me,” the beast said.  It took the vial and downed the remainder—and immediately passed out.  Vince squeaked as the body hit the floor and looked up at his Head of House fearfully.

Without a word Snape strode to the beast’s side, elegantly dropping to one knee and lifting the body into a sitting position.  Green eyes snapped open, Evans-emerald once again, the cloudiness of the sea-glass cleared.

“Mr. Malfoy?”  Snape asked.  The boy burst into tears.  Snape drew his cloak around him in an embrace.  “You’re safe now…”

Vince watched Draco cling to their professor and was heart-sickeningly jealous.  He desperately wished an adult were comforting him, too.  “So gay,” he muttered, rejecting the help-not-offered.

As Draco continued to weep, Snape looked over his shoulder at Vince.  “Where is Mr. Weasley?”

“Clocktower,” Vince said, voice cracking.  “Western side.”  Snape stood.  “Sir?”  Snape non-verbally summoned his broom and raised an eyebrow at Vince, waiting for him to continue.  “…he was Crucio’d, sir.”  Snape nodded.  At least the scene shouldn’t be overly messy. 

“Do not leave this room under any circumstance,” Snape instructed.  Vince’s eyes were wide.  He was afraid to be alone with Draco—what if the beast came back?  But before he could protest, Snape locked them inside and left. 

*

Snape flew across the grounds towards the Clocktower.  He would not let himself think about everything he had learned, not yet; right now he had to deal with the body before someone else found it.  He’d take it back to his classroom, and…then what?  Burn it, let everyone believe it was a disappearance?  Dumbledore would never be fooled by that.  He focused on loosening his vice-like grip on his broom.  Dumbledore couldn’t know the Horcrux woke, couldn’t know Snape had learned of its existence.

He spotted the body in the shadow of the Clocktower.  He landed, leaning his broom against the wall.  The body was twisted, fear etched into an unmoving face.  Snape had seen many who died by Cruciatus, but rarely children.  It turned his stomach.  His lips pinched tight and he knelt down, brushing a gentle hand across the boy’s eyes to close them.

The skin was still warm.  With the chill air, with the long minutes passed, it shouldn’t be warm—

Snape ripped open the boy’s shirt and pointed his wand at his heart.  Concentrating, he cut a runic symbol into his chest.  Blood welled—slowly, not as much as there ought to be, but it rose none the less.  He pressed his palm to the mark and chanted lightly, eyes closed.  The necromancy instantly revealed the grip of Death around Ron’s soul, the gold light of his essence stretched thin and only barely keeping contact to his body.  With a viciousness he seldom allowed himself to express, Snape tore at Death.  The necromancy curled Death’s fingers away until finally it let go.  Snape pushed the soul back into its body.

Ron wheezed, a dragging sound, and his face twitched into hysteria.  Snape cast a Calming charm and picked him up, grabbed his broom, and flew directly to the windows of the Healer’s ward. 

“Evanesco,” he cast against the glass panes.  He flew inside.  “Poppy!”  He called as he landed, dropping his broom unceremoniously and carrying Ron towards a bed.

Madam Pomfrey came out of her office and was at his side quickly.  “What happened?”  She asked.  As Snape laid the boy down, her eyes were immediately drawn to the rune bleeding on his chest.  _Necromancy._   “What did you _do?!”_ She shrieked.

“He’s not inferi,” Snape assured her sneeringly.  “I found him between life and death and used necromancy as a cheat to push him back in.”

Madam Pomfrey was horrified that a student nearly died and was repulsed at Snape’s use of potent Dark magic.  “What happened?” She repeated in plain outrage.  She cast a diagnostic scan over the boy, impatient with Snape’s silence.  Hundreds of fragmentations broke apart his mind.  “These are the marks of the Cruciatus curse,” she whispered incredulously, incapable of understanding how a student on school grounds could encounter an Unforgivable.  “Severus…”  She lowered her wand.  “There’s nothing I can do for him.”

*

Snape’s heart was pounding as he opened the door to his Defense class.  Draco hadn’t moved from his spot on the floor, hugging his knees.  Vince was sitting on top of _his bloody desk_ , the little shit, and when he saw Snape walk in he leapt off as if to convince Snape he hadn’t really been sitting there at all.  Snape stood still for a moment, glaring at the boy with narrowed eyes.  “Do that again,” he said slowly, “And you’ll be polishing my desk for the rest of the year.”  Vince mumbled an apology and avoided his eyes. 

Draco looked up and saw Snape was empty handed.  _Oh gods, he’s already disposed of the body…_ Voice straining, he forced himself to ask, “Where is he?”  _Buried?  Burned?  Fed to the Forbidden Forest?_

Pause.  “I was able to revive him,” Snape said.  He raised a hand to silence the exclamations ready to bubble from his students.  They looked at him with such gratitude and amazement…Severus would have to correct that.  With uncharacteristic gentleness he said, “It was not merciful.  The shell survives but the boy is gone.”  Draco looked slapped, and his eyes grew with misery, dark bruising circles under them.  “Madam Pomfrey is evaluating his state.  She will alert Ginny Weasley, as per protocol regarding family contacts within the school.  Once a report has been made on his condition—hallucinations, emotional dysregulation, linguistic comprehension, motor control, and fluctuations therein—Madam Pomfrey will contact his parents to discuss arrangements for care.”  Draco’s mind swam.  The Weasleys would never be able to afford private care at St. Mungos.  He squeezed his eyes shut and lowered his forehead to his knees. 

“There will be questions about how this happened.  I need to know the truth so we can spin a convincing narrative.”  Snape’s gaze focused on Vince, and the instant he achieved eye contact he slipped inside the boy’s mind and reviewed the memory.

To Snape’s great annoyance, Draco had not confided in Vince about the Horcrux prior to his meeting the beast, which meant Snape was left ignorant about too much.  He did, however, come across something unexpected: Blaise’s lineage.  Snape quickly reviewed any related knowledge Vince had and was furious to learn the abuse Draco had silently endured.  Snape exited the boy’s mind and pinned Draco with his stare. 

Vince was creeped out that his professor had been strolling along unrestricted through his thoughts and memories, and was about to snark a complaint when he felt dizzy.  The dizziness wasn’t the sensation of the physical world spinning, but rather something internal.  His eyes rolled back as the vision took him.

Snape did not notice Vince’s silence as he pressed his godson.  “You never told me Mr. Zabini was part incubus.”

Draco’s words quivered, sick and weak with acceptance.  “I didn’t figure it out until recently.  He had me Charmed for so long…I had no idea.”

Snape’s thin lips bent into satisfaction.  “We’ll blame him.”  Draco raised his head and peered at his professor.  Snape was pleased to see grit and determination returning to his eyes.  “You will both report to Madam Pomfrey that it was Mr. Zabini who cursed Mr. Weasley as you attempted to dispose of the Amortentia.  Mr. Zabini is already half-mad; no one will believe his denial.” 

“The beast wouldn’t have risen without Blaise.  He deserves blame,” Draco agreed bitterly.

“Mr. Crabbe?”  Snape asked.  He watched the boy closely, noticed the slight drop of the head backward, his mouth slightly agape.  It was not the full-body float, auto-intoning of a prophecy…but it was certainly something powerful.  Without looking away, Snape asked Draco, “Has he ever had a vision?”

Draco looked up at his friend for the first time since the beast was forced back into dormancy.  “Yes,” Draco said, worried.  “I haven’t seen it happen before, but yeah, he’s told me they’ve been coming more frequently.”

 _Intriguing,_ Snape thought.  He was unaware of any prior Crabbe’s having proficiency with Divination.  Snape wondered if his potential was strong enough to lure Sybil’s attention; he would have to ply the woman with his best brandy…

With a small, sharp intake of air, Vince’s head lifted and his eyes rolled back down.  He closed his mouth and swallowed, and felt a strange case of stage-fright as his professor asked him intensely:  “What did you see?”

The fear was insistent.  Vince wasn’t sure if the fear was telling him not to say too much in front of Snape, or not to say too much in front of the beast’s host.  But one way or the other, he had a feeling he needed to be careful in how much he revealed.  His palms grew sweaty and he rubbed them against his robes as discretely as he could.  “I saw the Dark Lord—or, more accurately, I saw him before he became that.  He was conceived under Amortentia.”  He glanced at Draco quickly.  His heart stuttered over itself as it pumped _careful-carefulcare-fullcare-fulcareful-careful-_   He took a deep breath, and watched Draco as he continued.  “Pregnancies under the effects of magic have unpredictable effects on the embryo…”  Vince couldn’t read any change in Draco’s face.  Relaxing a little, he continued, “The infant Dark Lord was cursed to never feel love, any form of it.  Like… _any_ form of it.  You know.  Even lust.”

Snape suddenly understood the Dark Lord’s mixture of reliance and resistance to Bellatrix Lestrange, how he could recognize her loyalty was something more yet was crippled against utilizing it to its fullest.

“Amortentia forces the drinker to feel all the things that, for him, Don’t exist.  Can’t exist.  That’s why the beast woke—the Amortentia would have dissolved him in its force to make him feel what he never can.”  Vince gave a single firm nod, an agreement to himself to stop there.  He looked again at Draco.  _Has it happened yet?_   Vince wondered.  _Are you a father?_  

The potioneer in Severus was already writing a thesis on Amortentia based on this new information.  He put his academic curiosity on the backburner and turned piercing eyes to Draco.  “I need you to tell me everything you know about His Horcruxes.”

Draco shook his head.  “I can’t.  I’m sorry.”

“So am I,” Snape said, casting Legilimency.  Draco felt the invasion in his mind and was so panicked that he drew on every inch of the Switch to mentally throw the man out.  Snape gasped, the migraine burrowing into his eyes and tunneling deep through his brain.  He had never been expelled so instantly and with such force.  He reeled back on his heels, covering his face with his hands.  He scrubbed his fingers roughly over his face and peered at the boy.

Draco’s heart was pounding.  He couldn’t believe his godfather used Legilimency on him.  “Mother would skin you alive for that.”

The childish remark made Snape’s mouth lean between a smirk and a smile.  “Yes, Narcissa has always had strong opinions on Legilimency,” he agreed.  The woman could rival Dumbledore himself for her Occlumency talent.  Thoughts of Dumbledore returned Snape to furrowed brows and scowls.  “I have to know the extent of the Headmaster’s awareness,” Snape insisted.  “If he’s known Harry is a Horcrux, and _kept that from me…_ then he is saving Harry for slaughter.”  His eyes were brimstone.  “I can’t accept that.  Albus can’t know.  That cannot be his design, not after _everything_.  You must tell me!”

“I can’t make the choice to share critical information about the war without Harry.”

“Fine,” Snape stood.  “Let’s go collect Mr. Potter.” 

Draco felt impossibly heavy.  “We’d have to tell him….everything.”

“His best friend has been left with the cognitive strength of a mushroom; Mr. Potter will know everything eventually,” Snape said.  “You will endure.”

“Uh,” Vince interrupted hesitantly, “You don’t need me to go with you, right?”

Snape’s eyes narrowed.  “Your presence is inconsequential.”

“Great,” Vince said.  Images of small, round, purple flowers had been a consistent theme in the latter part of his vision. 

He needed to talk to Pansy.

*

There were several prime areas within the grounds of Hogwarts to best teach earth magic.  Snape allowed himself a small smile as he was proven correct in deducing where Remus would choose his lesson.  Draco trailed slightly behind him as they approached Hagrid’s pumpkin patch.  Remus locked eyes with Snape and a dozen questions and warnings silently batted between them.  Harry was kneeling over a seed trying to make it grow when he felt the tension in the air shift.  He looked up and saw the two Slytherins.  Something was very wrong for Snape to escort Draco.  Harry stood and brushed the dirt off his trousers self-consciously.  He and Remus waited in silence for the pair to join them.

“Don’t you have children to terrorize?”  Remus asked.  “Or has the DADA curse ousted you faster than it did even Lockhart?”

Snape smirked.  “Were you inspired to teach outside simply because you were sick of the newspapers on the floor?”

Harry stared at Draco, willing him to meet his eyes, but Draco could only watch the grass.  Harry’s hands curled into fists from anxiety.

Remus was about to return the barb when the wind pitched the man’s scent toward him.  The wolf smelled fear.  “—What happened?”

“We need to borrow Mr. Potter,” Snape said dismissively.

Draco gave his godfather’s elbow a quick squeeze to gain his attention and quietly told him, “Remus knows.”

Snape looked down at his charge.  “…Everything?”

“Yes.”

Snape sneered at Remus, “In that case, no need to be delicate.”  He looked at Harry.  “The Horcrux woke.”

Harry’s eyes widened and immediately swung back to Draco.  “Are you okay?”

“No, by iron and stars, I’m not okay,” Draco said, his voice suddenly hoarse as he tried to sound angry.  He looked up to see Harry had come within inches of him.  Looking up was a mistake.  Harry was so concerned, and oh gods Draco couldn’t keep pretending he didn’t need him.  He let himself lean into Harry.  Harry was surprised, but quickly wrapped his arms around him and held him close. 

“What happened?”  Harry asked, his heart speeding up. 

Snape felt unbridled pettiness that Harry might recover his lost one in a way he himself never could.  He took a moment to compose himself.  “Mr. Zabini--”

“Blaise?!”  Harry raged.  “This is his fault?!  I’ll kill him!”  Draco buried his face into the crook of Harry’s neck, afraid for Harry to learn more.  Harry’s arms tightened around him.

“Well, it seems Mr. Potter has no need for any further inquiry,” Snape sneered.

“Please continue, Severus,” Remus said, shooting a look at Harry to stay quiet.

Snape paused.  “Mr. Zabini unwittingly triggered the Horcrux by forcing Mr. Malfoy to drink Amortentia.  We have since learned the potion is a weakness of the Dark Lord’s, as he was conceived under it and therefore cursed to never feel love.  The potion forces the entire being who consumes it to feel unbridled passion—which included the Horcrux, not just Mr. Malfoy.  The potion is essentially a weapon, and under such threat the Horcrux woke.” Snape’s voice was slow and methodical as he said, “Blaise fled when he realized there was a…complication.” 

Draco winced and his muscles tightened so much that he seemed smaller.  “I can’t,” he said, pulling away from Harry before Harry could pull away from him.

“Draco--”

“You don’t want to comfort me,” Draco said desperately.  “You don’t want to, because I couldn’t stop it.”

“Stop it from what?”  Harry paused and looked back at Snape.  “—Is anyone hurt?”

Snape’s eyes flicked to his godson, giving him an opportunity to speak if he wanted to be the one to disclose.  Draco had his arms wrapped around himself and remained silent.  Snape cleared his throat.  “Mr. Weasley was tortured to the brink of death.”

Harry felt the entire world become surreal, felt time slow and the earth stop moving.  Perhaps fifty years later, he felt strong hands grip his shoulders and pull him into a hug.  He simply allowed himself to be dragged in, only vaguely aware of Remus’s rough jacket against his cheek.  There were questions being asked and answered, but the voices were far away.

Harry felt the volume turn up in the middle of something Snape was saying:  “—survived, but his mind is gone.”

“No,” Harry said gently.  He pulled back from Remus and glared, not really sure why he was glaring, but feeling anger rise on steel wings.  “He can’t be just ‘gone’.  We can use the Switch—Draco can use it with my magic, I don’t care, we can bring him back!”

Draco looked up in hope. 

“Harry,” Remus said gently.  “The Switch would have the raw power to do something impossible like that, yes…but Draco is not a psyche-diver.  He doesn’t know which strands within the mind belong where.  He could physically force them to connect when no one else could, that’s true.  But it would be impossible for him to know where they go.”

“Okay, so…so we get some head-honcho expert from St. Mungo’s to teach him, and…”

“It takes ten years to become a psyche-diver,” Snape said.  “You’ll be Switched back long before then.”  _Or…_ Snape refused to think the rest.

“This can’t be it,” Harry insisted.  He looked around for anyone to agree with him.  He let out a long breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.  “…how bad is he?”

“Madam Pomfrey is conducting his evaluation now,” Snape said. 

“I want to see him,” Harry said with a stubborn tilt to his jaw.

Remus felt his heart ache.  “For something as serious as this, it’s customary for family to be alerted first…I’m sure you’ll be allowed to visit tomorrow…”

“ _But it’s Ron._ ”

Remus sighed and agreed softly, “I know, Harry…I’m so sorry.”

Firmly, Snape said, “I returned the Horcrux to dormancy.  Does Albus know about its existence?”

“Great Gods Severus,” Remus swore.  “Read the damn room!  Now is not the time to demand information!”

“Why not?”  Snape sneered.  “I provided plenty.”

“You want to do this now?”  Remus snarled.  “Fine.  You’re a double agent.  I don’t trust you.  Your existence is manipulating everyone into believing you and serving no one but yourself.”

“Not himself,” Harry said quietly.  He met Snape’s eyes.  “Her.  He serves no one but her.” 

Snape found it easier to look at Harry without the shape of James Potter confronting him.  “We spoke earlier of atonement,” Snape said.  “Keeping you alive is mine.  If that is no longer Dumbledore’s objective…” He inclined his head.  “Then it’s time to ally myself to Lily’s legacy directly.”

Draco wondered when the hell Snape and Harry had this private little talk and found his mind spinning about what they might have said.

Remus shook his head.  “You’re good,” he said quietly.  “You make me want to believe you.” 

“If Dumbledore has known about Horcruxes for any length of time, and he has chosen not to tell me, then that can only mean he does not know a way to remove the Horcrux without destroying the vessel.  He knows my true allegiance is to Lily.  If he plans for Harry to die, he couldn’t let me know.  You must tell me if that is the case.”

A pause, and Remus finally said, “He knows.  Worst case scenario, he’s known since the day James and Lily were murdered.  Best case scenario, he’s known since Slytherin’s monster was destroyed.”

“…Years…” Snape growled.  “He’s known for _years._ ”  He brandished his wand – Remus raised his in a defensive manoeuver – and Snape cast at an adjacent pumpkin.  The gourd exploded into huge violent chunks, each chunk exploding again and again so it looked like bright orange fireworks pistoning through the air until all that fell to the ground were wet flakes the size of rice.  Remus lowered his wand.  Snape took a shuddering breath.  “Albus has given up,” he said, looking deep into Harry’s eyes.  “I swear to you, I never will.”

*

Vince was sitting on the floor of the hallway facing the closed door to Transfiguration, waiting for class to be let out so he could catch Pansy.  His mind kept spinning over the symbols and contradictory pieces of his vision.  He wasn’t sure how long he waited before the door opened, surprising him out of his train of thought.  He stood, a jerky sort of lumber that made him feel thick and self-conscious.  As Pansy exited he walked quickly to her side. 

“Hey,” he said.  How was he supposed to find out whether or not she was pregnant yet?

“Hi,” she said with a casual smile as they began walking with the crowd of students.  “Were you waiting for me?”

“Yeah.  I wanted to ask you—when’s the last time you were on the rag?”

She raised her eyebrows at him.  “I don’t care what potion you’re brewing, I’m not donating any ‘material’.  Ask someone else.”

“I’m not brewing--” Vince switched tactics in mid-thought.  “--Are you and Draco fucking?”

Pansy gave a pageant-winning smile as she said demurely, “Of course,” while a gaggle of Gryffindor girls giggled past them.

“No, like for real--” She grabbed his ear and yanked him down an empty hallway.  “Ow!” He yelped.  She gave a vicious tug before releasing him. 

“Are you done?”  She asked.

“Done what?!”

“Breathing.”

He rubbed his ear.  “Oh, come off it Pansy.  Just tell me the truth, have you managed to get our favourite pillow-biter to man-up and visit pussy-town?”

She drew her wand and commanded, “Rephrase.”

“Sure, how’s this for rephrasing,” Vince gambled, “You’re pregnant.”  Her pupils dilated in fear.  “Holy shit,” Vince muttered.  “It’s true, it’s already happened…”

“Will you keep your voice down?!”  She hissed, stepping closer to him.  She studied his face.  “Who have you told?”

“No one,” he said.  Her shoulders relaxed an inch.  “I had a vision.”

“Let me guess,” she drawled.  “If she’s born during the war, Draco dies.”

Vince was shocked.  “Well, that’s part of it—how’d you—?”

“Trelawney.”

“Oh.”  Vince furrowed his brows.  “Okay, well…things have changed.  The Horcrux woke up.”

Pansy looked confused.  “What’s that?”

Vince gave a nervous laugh.  “Heh, so it wasn’t just me he didn’t tell!”

“Vincent.”

“Right—look…Potter has some piece of the Dark Lord that sleeps in his brain.  Except now it’s Draco’s brain.  It’s called a Horcrux.”

Revulsion and fear rolled through her belly.  “And this thing woke?”  She asked weakly.

Vince nodded, then grimaced.  “It nearly killed Weasley.  Or, technically, it did kill him, mostly, but he’s alive again and he’s in the hospital wing and—”

“Where is Draco now?!”

“He’s with Snape.  Snape got the Horcrux to go back to sleep.”

Pansy felt her knees become weak with relief.  “Is he okay?”

“I dunno,” Vince admitted.  “I mean, yeah?  I think?  He was pretty freaked out.  And honestly, so was I.  We didn’t really talk, I got my vision and hunted you down.”  He drew closer to her.  “The first part revealed that the Dark Lord was conceived under Amortentia, and that cursed him to be incapable of love.  But the rest…it was about your kid.  It contained a specific message and a shit-ton of images and symbols.”  He screwed his eyes shut, concentrating to get the words exactly right.  “The direct-bit said, ‘ _A father’s corrupted love cursed the beast; to live within a father’s pure love will curse it anew.’_ So…Draco has to know and love his child, and that will weaken the Horcrux.  But she can’t be born, or he dies.”  He looked up at Pansy.  “And then I heard bells and saw purple flowers, a blue light, something about holding breath never taken…” He shrugged helplessly.  “I don’t understand.  But I figured the purple flowers have gotta be pansies, which led me to you.”

“Potter and I have a plan,” Pansy said.  “There’s this thing called a Bell Jar.  If we steal it, it can keep her in suspended animation until after the war is over.  Then she can be born without endangering her fathers.”

“—Fathers?  Plural?”  Vince thought about it, and clarity blinded him like sunlight in his eyes.  “Fathers, _plural,_ ” he repeated in awe.

“Did you see anything else with the flowers and bells motif?”  Pansy pressed.  “Think!”

Vince closed his eyes again, sinking deeper into memory.  “The blue light is a sword…the blue light comes from within…only a sword drawn can prevent death…”  His head throbbed.  “I’m sorry, that’s all I can reach.”

“It’s okay, it’s more than we had before,” Pansy reassured him.

He rubbed his temples.  “You have to tell Draco.”

Her nostrils flared.  “Not. Until. We Secure. The Bell Jar.”

“The Horcrux woke once already,” Vince argued, “We don’t know if that’s made it stronger.  But we know a way to weaken it.”

“I’m not telling Draco until I can have some small measure of confidence that I can save her and him!”  She took his hand, and said softer, “Vince, please.  Potter and I have a plan.  Let me see it through.”

Vince grimaced.  “Yeah…okay.  But Pansy?”  He squeezed her hand before dropping it.  “Don’t wait too long.”

*

Madam Pomfrey had a quiet word with Professor Sprout before removing Ginny from Herbology class to deliver the news. 

However, after explaining Ron’s condition to his sister, Ginny just…smiled. 

“He’ll be fine,” she kept saying.  “He always is.  He’s almost died every single year at this school.  He’ll be fine.  He’s fine.”

No matter how she phrased the situation, Madam Pomfrey couldn’t pierce through the girl’s denial.  _She can’t see her brother without emotional warning,_ the Healer thought.  She tried bluntly describing his state, and the smile faltered, but still Ginny dug her heels in and insisted he’d pull through this.  Madam Pomfrey sighed, and decided to break the official rules—this time was meant for family only, but it wasn’t in Ginny’s best interest to go in there alone.  After asking Ginny’s permission, the Healer pulled her two best friends from their classes to be accompany her while she visited Ron.

Ginny stood in Madam Pomfrey’s office as she waited for the Healer to return with her friends.  She kept having these momentary swings of panic whistling through the air – _what if its true?_ —but Ginny would wrap big fluffy blankets of denial around herself every time the air grew thin and chill.

The door swung open, and Ginny shivered at the sudden air.  Luna rushed toward her and hugged her fiercely.  “I’m so sorry…”

“He’s fine,” Ginny repeated, straining to smile and hugging back a little too tightly.  Why did her eyes feel wet?  “You know how strong he is.  I’m pretty sure Madam Pomfrey is exaggerating.  He’ll be fine.”

“Gin…”  Neville started with a crack in his voice.  “If it was Crucio…”

Luna reached out and grabbed Neville, pulling him into their hug.  He put his arms around both the girls.  “…We’ll get through it,” Neville finished. 

“Just remember,” Madam Pomfrey began gently, “Ron’s motor skills through his left side are compromised.  If you wish to hold his hand, I would recommend his left because it cannot grasp back.  It may be less comforting to you, but should he become agitated you will be able to withdraw immediately.  His emotional response is unstable, rapidly and unpredictably moving from sweet to violent.  For his own safety, and for ours, he has leather straps restraining him.  Please do not try to remove or loosen these, even if he appears docile.  Understood?”

 _He’ll be fine,_ Ginny thought, her inner voice edged in panic.  Her smile made her face ache.

“We understand,” Neville said somberly.  Luna nodded agreement, her brows drawn down in concern.

Madam Pomfrey stared at Ginny.  “If you’re not ready, dear, you don’t have to see him now.”

“No, I want to,” Ginny said, surprised that her voice shook.  She had to see him, she had to know he would get through this, she needed her big brother to tell her not to worry.

The Healer sighed.  “Alright…”  She walked to the second door that led directly into the medic ward and held it open for them.  “His cot is the last one, opposite the windows.  Keep the curtains drawn around his bed, he’s sensitive to the light.”

Ginny’s heart started to race the instant she saw the curtained area.  She rushed to his bed, feeling an urgent need to be with him, but froze in front of the starch white curtains.  There was a knot in her belly that told her how dangerous it would be to look behind the veil…

Luna and Neville flanked either side of her.  Neville would have waited all day if that’s what she needed, but Luna understood that what Ginny really needed was a push.  “Three,” Luna said, turning her head to look at Ginny.

Ginny looked at Luna and saw the gentle expectation in her face.  She took a deep breath and faced the curtain.  “Two,” Ginny whispered.  She took the girl’s hand and squeezed so hard she felt Luna’s knuckles pop.  Luna didn’t even flinch.

“One,” Neville said and slowly drew back the curtain.

Ginny had expected to see her brother laying in a bed.  The person strapped to the mattress was not the boy she knew…He looked several hundred years old, and he looked like a toddler at the same time.  He had a weariness that broke her heart. 

She opened her mouth but nothing came out.

Ron was quietly singing in wordless vocables; Ginny recognized the tune as an old pureblood lullaby their mother used to sing to them.  He was staring up at the ceiling, letting his head sway back and forth on its pillow, his face slack as the tune dribbled out of him in a constant string.

“Ron?”  Ginny whispered.  Embarrassed by her timidity, she cleared her throat and tried again.  “Ron.”  He continued exactly as if she were not there.  “Ron, it’s me.”  Ginny didn’t understand why he refused to respond to her.  She looked up at the ceiling to see if something were stealing his attention, but no, it was bare.  “Ron, stop singing, talk to me,” she said impatiently and sat on the edge of his bed.  Her warm denial was rapidly draining away from her and she felt the shock of everything Madam Pomfrey had warned sinking in.  Desperately she cried out, “I mean it.  Knock it off.  Just talk to me!”

“Ginny,” Neville put a hand on her shoulder, “He can’t right now.  If you want to connect with him, you have to lean into the crazy.  Here, I’ll show you…”  He stepped in front of her and knelt down so he was eye level with Ron, and Neville began to sing the lyrics to the song Ron had been trying to reach.  Ron quieted immediately and let his head stay flopped to one side to face the boy.  Neville smiled and kept singing. 

Ron was like a child experiencing his first gift, staring at Neville with glee and surprise and gratitude.  Ron excitedly rejoined his friend in vocalizing.  Hearing the words, Ron tried to catch them and sing the lyrics, but his efforts were clumsy and a lot of work, so mostly he simply sang with sounds and syllables. 

When they reached the end of the song Ron automatically began it again and Neville lightly bopped his lips with one finger.  “New song!”  Neville chimed brightly.  Ron, startled, stopped and stared, trying to comprehend.  “Do you know Suantraighe?”  Ron’s eyes flicked between looking at Neville’s right and left eye, eager to catch meaning.  Neville began singing and Ron’s eyes lit up as he recognized the song from long ago. 

Luna rubbed a hand up and down Ginny’s back when she noticed her friend start to tremble.

The song ended and Ron tried to loop, again.  “New song!” Neville repeated cheerfully with a tap to Ron’s lips.  Ron quieted and struggled, and after a great amount of effort began humming a new song.

“Very good!”  Neville exclaimed with a huge smile.  Neville sang with him, and Ron was overwhelmed with joy at making a human connection when his new world was so lonely and full of terror.  He happily sang in his wordless way, his head rocking back and forth in excitement.

At the end of the song, Ron stopped all on his own.  “Good job!” Neville said.  Ron grinned up at him.  “You know who loves songs?  Your sister does.”  He stood and backed up so he was standing beside Ginny, who remained sitting on the edge of her brother’s bed.  Ginny smiled nervously as Ron’s eyes trailed from Neville…to her.

Ron jerked forward violently but the leather strap across his chest prevented him from lifting his shoulders more than an inch from the mattress.  His eyes bulged in fear and desperation as he shrieked, “Chain air!  Chain hair!”  His broken mind replayed how the beast was hunting for Ginny, her name and her hair the only ways it knew to track her.  Ron was pitched into absolute panic.  He had to protect his sister.  He fought the fog to get the right words and screamed, “ _Change hair!”_ He pulled viciously on his restraints and chanted his warning over and over.

Ginny leapt off the bed and took several steps back.  Neville stepped in front of her, blocking her from Ron’s sight, and asked her: “What’s his favourite colour?”

Ginny shook her head.  “Blue,” she said, her voice cracking.  Ron would not stop screaming.

“May I?”  Neville asked, reaching out and holding a lock.  She nodded.  He swept his fingers through her hair and instantly half the length was gone.  Beach waves rolled through her normally pin-straight hair, and just barely brushed her shoulders.  With another sweep from root to tip, her hair became a bright turquoise. 

“Wait,” Luna said, joining Neville’s side.  She stood in front of Ginny and brushed a firm thumb over each of her eyebrows, and they darkened into teal.  She delicately brushed her fingertip across Ginny’s eyelashes, turning them deep navy, and then pinched her cheeks hard to make her freckles change into seafoam.

Neville smiled.  “Nice touch,” he said.  He took Ginny by the arm and pulled her close to Ron’s face, had her kneel at his side so she was at eye level with him.  “Ta-da!  Change hair!”  Neville said.

Ron looked at her and seemed to melt back into his bed.  He laid still, calm, and stared at her with his mouth open.  He was so relieved.  “Ba-loo,” he said, stretching the word to emphasize his meaning, which was _You’re so beautiful._

“Blue, your favourite,” Ginny said through the lump.

He stared, making sure the colour stayed.  “Bloo-blue,” he murmured.  He meant, _I love you_ , and Ginny could almost hear it.  It made her cry. 

“Blue, for you,” she said with a sniffle.  He smiled.  Blue would keep her safe. 

Luna straightened the blanket that had ruffled, tucking it around him more securely. 

“Guys,” Ginny said.  She climbed onto the edge of the hospital bed to lay with him, half her body unsupported and stubbornly balancing anyway.  “I need some time alone with him.”  She nuzzled her face into his shoulder and he happily rested his cheek on blue hair.

Neville summoned another bed and charmed it to remain touching Ron’s so that Ginny could lay more comfortably with her brother.  He turned and walked out, taking long strides that quickened his pace without looking rushed.  Luna wasn’t fooled.  She summoned a blanket for Ginny, told her to send a patronus if she needed them, and hurried after Neville.

Luna threw open the medic doors and was surprised to see him standing right outside.  He hadn’t run, after all.  She smiled.  “I’m glad you wanted to be found.”

He looked up at her.  The cheerful performance was gone, his pain raw across his skin.  “I still feel lost,” he said.

“What you did in there, for Ron, for Ginny…it was so brave.”  She stepped closer and took his hand in hers.  “You really helped them.  I know it cost you…reliving how you learned to be with your parents…You never talk about it.  And you just had to go through it again.  I can’t imagine how hard that was.”

Neville sighed a breath that came from his bones.

She tugged his hand gently.  “Come with me.”

They walked in silence until they reached Ravenclaw Tower, where the guardian posed a riddle and Luna absently answered.  The entrance was revealed and she led him inside. 

Neville had never been in Ravenclaw before, and felt almost as shy as he did in Year One as he walked in a space where, although welcomed, he felt he didn’t belong.  She held his hand tighter when she began to take the stairs up to the girl’s dorms and he stopped at the foot of the staircase.  She smiled over her shoulder at him.  “Come on,” she insisted and continued walking, pulling him up with her.  He automatically took a step to prevent himself from falling, and was shocked to discover there were no gender barricades in Ravenclaw dorms.  He walked with her to her room.

Neville gave a small smile despite himself when they reached the fifth year girls room.  One bed had fluffy white clouds acting like curtains, and soft green moss charmed to grow as its surrounding carpet.  “Let me guess,” Neville teased, trying not to sound so damn broken, “Could that one be yours?” 

“Rainbows wake me each morning,” Luna told him proudly.  She brought him to her bed and pulled out her trunk.  “I spent most of last year making this for you,” she explained as she dug through her stuff.  “I wanted it to be a birthday present, but I couldn’t get it done in time.  I finished the spell maybe a month ago, and figured I’d just hang onto it as a Christmas gift, but…you need it now.”  She pulled out a long black box, the size one might use for a single rose.  “Sorry it’s not wrapped,” she said.  She was starting to get nervous.  She thrust it toward him.

“Thank you,” he said.  He was entirely thrown that she had spent so much time on something for him… He opened the lid.  Inside lay a necklace, laying lengthwise, made of crystalized forget-me-nots and silver.  He carefully took it out and set the box aside on her bed.

“You know the flower, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Wearing this will find the memories you had as an infant—from the time before you learned how to save memories in long-term storage—and it’ll restore them to you,” Luna smiled.  “You can have your own memories of your parents from before they were cursed.  It’ll show you who they were, with you.” 

Neville looked up at her in awe. 

“I know I probably should have made one for Harry, too,” Luna admitted.  “But honestly, I wanted to make something special for you…Just for you.”

He felt himself smiling when only minutes ago he’d been struggling not to break down.  “Can I kiss you?”

Luna didn’t batt an eye.  “No,” she said simply, “I think a ‘thank you’ kiss would be super awkward, seeing that I like you.”

Neville had never before been so grateful for her utter lack of filter.  He grinned.  “It wouldn’t be a ‘thank you’ kiss.  It would be a real kiss.”

“Oh,” she said, her eyes growing wide.  “I’d like that,” she whispered, then quickly added, “But—girls who get kissed look kissable.  I’m not.”

“Do you know what’s kissable to me?”  Neville stepped closer to her.  “A girl with beautiful blue eyes who can see so much more than anyone else I’ve ever known.  A girl whose hair is long and free, who doesn’t have the time or the care for makeup.  She wears her favourite radish earrings every day, and right now her left sock is inside-out.”

Confused, Luna looked down at her own legs.  Her left sock exposed the fluffy pilling of the inner lining.  “Hey, whaddya know,” she said in great amusement.  She looked up with a grin on her face, and realized how very close Neville had come.  Her grin became soft and she whispered, “You have strange criteria.”

“I’m a strange guy.”  He leaned in and stopped just a breath away from her…and she closed the distance.

*

Blaise couldn’t stop thinking about Draco after returning to class.  _What the hell happened?!_   Weasley had warned something-something about the Switch, but great Morgana, Blaise hadn’t thought anything serious would occur.  He was sweating profusely.  _What if he rats me out?_ Blaise could be facing suspension, maybe even expulsion.  And then his mother would transfer him to— _ugh—_ Durmstrang.  Blaise had no interest in the freezing climate and militant regulations.  He reminded himself that the Charm he’d marked Draco with during their months together still clung to the boy’s psyche in threads, despite the Switch, despite Potter’s mutant ability to resist.  Blaise assured himself it was strong enough to keep Draco from reporting what happened.  After all, Draco remained mum about his heritage…surely a little poisoning wasn’t too much to keep secret.

Blaise managed to calm himself down and feel relatively confident that things would work out all right. 

As class ended, he leisurely strode back to the Slytherin dungeons and went to his room.

Draco was waiting for him inside.

Blaise smiled and let the door close behind him.  “You came to me,” he said and stepped closer.  “Does this mean the potion’s finally working?” 

“ _Expelliarmus._ ”

Blaise’s wand flew faithfully to Draco.  Blaise frowned and grumbled, “Okay, _not_ working…”

“You have no idea what you did,” Draco whispered.  “The little you do know, you don’t even care about…”  He hated how much it hurt, how devoted a part of him remained to the halfling.  Draco deeply needed to know the truth.  “All your proclamations about loving me, was that just a mating song to you?”

“Of course I love you, Draco,” Blaise insisted.  “But you scared me after you took the potion.  Do you know how awful it was for me to be the only person who didn’t know what was going on?  You should have warned me.  You knew I wouldn’t listen to Weasley.  How dare you tell that little _flea_ when I should be the one you confide in!”

 _I’m sorry—_ Draco was shocked to feel the apology pressing so heavily in his mind.  He shook his head, trying to wrestle the remains of the Charm down.  “I owe you nothing,” Draco reaffirmed to himself.  He reminded himself why he was there—he thought about everything Blaise had done to Harry and the fallout from the rise of the beast.  Rage warmed him and built him high enough that he could reach anger for his own trauma.  “ _Incarcerous._ ”

As the ropes shot forward Draco used his wand to direct them to tie Blaise down to his bed.  Blaise smiled with a smugness that made Draco sick.  “No,” Draco said, “Not that.  Never again.”

“‘Never again’?  You’re so naïve.”  Blaise chuckled.  “We’re done when my Incubus drive has finally had its fill of you and it directs me to a new conquest.  Neither you nor I control this.  Don’t pretend otherwise.”

“That’s why I’m here,” Draco said.  “The Ministry is coming for you.”  He let himself enjoy the look of shock across Blaise’s face before continuing.  “I wanted to steal the most precious part of you--your magic--in return for all you’ve stolen from me.  I hate you, and I love you, and gods I am so sick of not knowing what’s real inside my own head.  But what I do know?  Is that you’re more dangerous than I ever wanted to admit.”  He shook his head.  “You’ve done too much.  I won’t live in fear of when you’ll come for me again, I won’t risk what you’re capable of.”  Draco approached the side of the bed.

“ _I love you,_ ” Blaise infused as much Charm as he knew how into those words.  Draco froze.  Emboldened, Blaise continued.  “ _Untie me.  You want to keep me safe._ ”

Draco felt his heart breaking.  God, he loved him so much…He snarled, “It’s not real.”

“What if it is?”

“ _Silencio_ ,” Draco cast, his voice cracking.  Flashes of all the happy memories he had with Blaise lit up behind his eyes, and he wished they could stay sacred.  But he couldn’t trust them…He wanted to keep them, to believe in them—even just parts of them—but he couldn’t let himself.

They weren’t real.

What was real was that Draco would lose his protection from Blaise’s Charm when he eventually switched back into his own body.  What was real was that Blaise had no remorse for his actions and was capable of extreme violence.  Draco had to destroy the threat.

“ _Evanesco,_ ” Draco cast, vanishing the boy’s trousers and pants.  Slowly, gently, he reached forward and took Blaise’s testicles in his hand.

Blaise smiled and mouthed mockingly, ‘ _Never again_.’  He stretched and relaxed, eager to finally be touched.

Draco smiled and mouthed back, _‘Never again.’_

The slicing charm was quick.  Blaise shrieked in agony, bound by the silencing charm and his ropes, watching in horror as Draco lifted his severed testicles away from his body.  Draco threw them against the wall.  The sound they made on impact as they burst against the stone made his stomach flip.  Now they could never be reattached.

In rapid succession, Draco disillusioned himself and re-wrote Blaise’s memory to erase Draco’s visit and replace it with the memory of his Incubus fever driving him to temporary insanity and self-mutilation in a desperate attempt to make his hunger stop.

Draco cast _finite_ on the ropes and the silencing charm as he left, knowing the boy’s screams would bring his friends running to help.

Once inside his own room, Draco stared at the blood and hair on his shaking hands.  He examined the cartography of guilt and gore, and despite it all he finally felt safe.  Powerful. 

He sighed.  An Incubus without a sex drive…Draco never had to fear Blaise’s siren song again.


	24. Fuck the Flowers

Madam Pomfrey wanted nothing more than to change into her flannel nightclothes, drink a small bottle or two of Firewhiskey, and curl up with Minerva.  The Healer had one of the most difficult days of her career.  A slew of minor injuries and Potions accidents all morning, and then Mr. Weasley: held under the greatest torture curse in creation, past his endurance until his mind shattered. 

The only help she could give the poor boy was through Calming draughts, relaxing charms, and some esoteric hex work that would dispel the necromancy from his flesh in twenty-four hours.  He was broken and she had absolutely no substantial way to improve his condition.

Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Crabbe provided their official statements accusing Mr. Zabini of casting the Unforgivable and alleging he was an unregistered half-incubus.  Which meant more reports for the Healer to complete, contacting the Ministry and learning they had already sent agents to the school to pick him up…which was a good thing because the instant she pulled her head out of the fireplace from the floo call, two Slytherins ran into her ward levitating a badly bleeding Blaise and shrieking at her to hurry.  As it turns out, his (no-longer-alleged) incubus side had been unsatisfied for too long and he’d lost his mind, castrating himself in desperation.  When she’d asked if the two boys had brought the amputation, Seth Luddman held out a satchel stained with blood.  She took it and frowned at its contents.  It was mostly liquid and skin sloshing around together, no longer a singly formed body part.  It was useless.  She nodded and thanked the boys, telling them they had done the right thing before rushing to attend to Mr. Zabini. 

Then she had more reports, a conference with Dumbledore, and worst of all…Flooing the Zabini and Weasley homes to alert the parents about their sons.

Mrs. Zabini immediately threatened litigation against the school for allowing his mental health to go so unchecked as to lead to permanent disfiguration.  She struck a lashing blame against everyone she could imagine, except for herself and her son.  On hearing that the Ministry had been contacted, Mrs. Zabini’s rage focused and she announced that her lawyer would be dispatched to Hogwarts immediately.  “Don’t you dare let those Ministry wolves talk to my son until our lawyer arrives!”  Mrs. Zabini insisted she would leave for the Ministry and meet her son there.  She would not come to the school.  She could pretend he was intact if she didn’t see him in a hospital bed.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley openly wept, asking only when they could see their son.  “Any time that you’re available, I will make my hospital open to you.”  The Healer had barely finished the sentence before she saw brooms being summoned into palms; Mr. Weasley said they would Apparate just outside the Hogwarts wards and fly across the grounds.

Madam Pomfrey was exhausted.  She stood from the fireplace and stretched out her back before returning to the medic ward.  She checked on Mr. Zabini, who was in a deep sleep, and decided to add a security curtain around his bed.  It would prevent him from leaving the enclosed area.  She needed to be certain he wouldn’t try to evade the Ministry officials, and she also wished to protect the Weasleys from being confronted with the sight of the sick young man who assaulted their child.

The Healer sent a patronus to Argus Filch informing him to expect the arrival of various Ministry officials, a lawyer, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley; she requested he greet them at the main doors and lead them to the hospital wing if needed.  She summoned a house elf and requested tea service be brought up for Mr. and Mrs. Weasley; it would be a small comfort, but it was all she could think to do.

Yes, today had been the worst day of her career, because she hadn’t been able to heal those who were most wounded.

*

As the last class ended, so began the pollination of gossip between Houses.  Students flew from person to person exchanging information until the whole castle had heard the sordid details of Unforgivables and self-mutilation.

Harry hurried into Gryffindor Tower.  He scanned the common room and locked eyes with Hermione.  Without a word, they came together and she threw her arms around his neck.  He closed his eyes and hugged her tight, fighting back his uneasiness at physical intimacy.  She needed this…and maybe he did, too.

“No one seems to know how bad it is,” Hermione whispered.  “Everyone’s talking about it, but nobody knows anything!”

Harry squeezed her tighter as he empathized with her frustration.  “Have you seen Ginny?  Madam Pomfrey won’t let anyone but family visit him tonight.”

Hermione sniffed and pulled back, giving a small, rapid shake of her head.  “No…I can’t find her anywhere.  She must be staying with him.”  She took a shuddering breath.  “And if she’s refusing to leave his bedside, it must be really bad.”

“Let’s get my Cloak,” Harry said as he pulled away from her embrace.  “We’ll bust past Madam Pomfrey and see for ourselves.”

Hermione sighed and looked away.  “Harry, we can’t.”

“Why the hell not?”  His words came out soft, snow trying to be crystalline but losing their edges once released to the air.

“We can’t do that to Ginny,” Hermione said.  “She’s mad at me, and I hear you and her have unresolved stuff going on…”  She gave him a knowing look, making Harry wince.  “We’d only be complications for her to deal with.  We need to give her today.”

Harry didn’t want to.  “…You’re right,” he conceded.  “So we’ll sneak past her too.”

Possibility lit her eyes and she said, “We’d have to be really careful.”

“We will,” Harry promised. 

The pair hurried up the stairs to the boy’s dorm to retrieve his Invisibility Cloak.

Harry pulled it from his trunk and suggested they leave Gryffindor as normal and wear the Cloak when they reach an empty hall.  Hermione pursed her lips and asked, “Will we both fit, still?”

“Yeah, of course we will,” Harry dismissed without considering her words.

“It’s made for one adult, and we’ve all grown a lot since First Year…”

Harry paused, hearing her this time.  “C’mere,” he said as he threw the Cloak over his shoulders and held one end out for her to join him.  She ducked in and they stood shoulder-to-shoulder like they always did.  “See?”  Harry smiled in relief as the Cloak—barely—covered them. 

Hermione took a step forward and her foot was exposed.  “We’re too tall.”

Harry frowned.  “What if we--?”  He maneuvered behind her and the fabric fell expansively loose to the floor.  They took a few slow, awkward steps.  Harry bumped into Hermione when she stopped. 

“Put your hands on my waist,” Hermione said.  “It’ll help us maintain a better speed, and it’ll let you know when I’m stopping or turning.”  Harry raised his hands with a grimace.  He stood there like an idiot for a while with his hands at navel level unknowing where, exactly, to put them and unknowing how to stay that way without wanting to bolt.  “Would it be easier if I were the big spoon?” Hermione offered when Harry still didn’t reach for her.

Harry didn’t know which would be worse.  His face heated in shame, hating how difficult this was when he knew it shouldn’t be.  “No, I’m fine,” he lied.  “I just—where do I—?”

“Right here,” she said, putting her hands to her own waist.  Harry placed his hands as instructed and tried to will the anxiety away.

Hermione was right, it was much easier to walk synchronized when he could feel her movement.  Harry pulled the Cloak off and stepped away from her, claustrophobic in a way four walls could never achieve.  “Okay enough practice, I think we got it,” he said.  He folded the Cloak over his right arm.  “Let’s go.”

Harry and Hermione walked downstairs to the common room and swatted off a dozen questions from fellow Gryffindors asking what they knew about Ron.  They hurried to the portrait tunnel and were relieved to escape the buzzing queries.  The Fat Lady swung open to let them out and to their surprise they found Draco standing outside.

“You--!”  Hermione drew her wand and stormed towards Draco.  “You _dare_!”

“Hey, whoa, slow down,” Harry said as he grabbed her elbow. 

Draco quirked an eyebrow.  “Can you manage a complete sentence, or are you just going to foam at the mouth all night?”

She pointed her wand squarely at Draco’s chest.  “Ron was supposed to be _safe_ , in class with me!”  Hermione roared.  “It’s your fault!  You should have been the one Blaise cursed, Ron never should have been there, he had nothing to do with any of it!”

“You wanna blame me?  Then do it for better reasons,” Draco sneered, his nerves completely frayed and lacking his typical poise.  “I had no way of knowing getting Ron to skip class would be any more dangerous than a risk to House points.  But if fault and fury is all you can taste then get this – Blaise didn’t curse Ron.”  His eyes were bright.  “The Horcrux did.  And I couldn’t stop it.”

Hermione jerked back, her eyes wide with shock.  Pivoting sharply, her wand jabbed towards the Fat Lady and she cast just in time before the House guardian could escape to another portrait.  “ _Obliviate artem_!” Hermione looked coolly back at Draco.  “Idiot.”

Draco gave an annoyed little _huff_ but felt the sting of embarrassment.  She was right, he knew better than to explode in front of a portrait.  The Fat Lady could have reported what she heard to Dumbledore if Hermione hadn’t been so quick thinking.  “Let’s talk,” he said by way of apology.

"Let’s," she agreed.  The simple word sounded like the biggest ‘fuck you’ Draco had ever heard.  She led them to an empty classroom.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind them Harry said, “Hermione, you can’t blame him for what the Horcrux did.  Remember how Ginny couldn’t stop the first Horcrux while it possessed her?  It’s the same thing.  It’s not his fault.”

“Can you _not_ compare me to Ginny Weasley?!”  Draco snarled.

“I’m defending you!” Harry snapped.  

Hermione interjected, “What did you mean, the Horcrux cursed Ron?  What happened?”

Draco recounted how they were trying to dispose of the Amortentia when Blaise caught them and forced him to drink it.  “There was a blast of pain, and suddenly I was a prisoner in the back of my mind.  I could watch, but I couldn’t connect to my body or magic.  I tried everything to regain control but I couldn’t so much as blink.”  He explained how the beast had interrogated Ron and then sought out Professor Snape.  “The beast thought Snape was its ally.  Lucky for me, it was wrong.  Snape forced the beast back into dormancy and saved me.”  He looked away, angry at himself.  “I couldn’t stop the beast.  I tried, I failed.  Isn’t that a far more fulfilling reason to blame me?”

“Harry’s right, it’s not your fault,” Hermione said.  “Now I blame Vince, and I blame Blaise.  And obviously the beast.”

“Come on, not Vince,” Draco said.  “He was terrified for his life.  And he did _try_ …”

“If someone were being crucio’d in front of me I’d do more than alert the attacker that someone might hear the screams.  I’d fight them.  I’d stop them.”

“What did you want him to do, die trying!?” Draco asked in exasperation.  He looked at Harry, expecting support.  Harry remained silent.  Draco added, “The beast has untold power as a Horcrux, and if it figured out it had the power of the Switch it could’ve become unstoppable.  Vince still has trouble telling left from right.  There is literally nothing he could have done to save Ron.”

“I get what you’re saying,” Harry said, “But tell him to stay away from us.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Next time I see him, he’ll bleed.”

Draco swore under his breath.  Hermione studied him.  “There’s a pretty gory rumour going around about Blaise.  Is it true?”

Not wanting to lie to Harry and not wanting to share the truth with Granger, Draco answered, “He’s not a threat anymore.”

“What rumour?”  Harry asked.

Draco and Hermione looked at each other, in a _Do you want to tell him?  You should tell him._ –kind of way.  Hermione finally turned to Harry and said, “Blaise lost his mind and castrated himself.”

Harry’s eyebrows shot up into his forehead.  “…Really?!”  He asked Draco for confirmation.

Draco gave a fluid shrug and said, “That’s what they’re saying.”

“Holy shit,” Harry murmured.  “That’s fantastic!”

“Harry!”  Hermione admonished, shocked that he would applaud such brutality.

“He can’t hurt anyone this way,” Harry defended, “And it gives him a second chance at life, to reform.  God, he could even learn to regret his crimes now that he won’t have incubus sexuality blinding him.  He could become so much better for this.”

Draco rolled his eyes.  “Only you would see this as something positive for him rather than justice doled against him.”

“Hey, I’m a fan of the justice part,” Harry said.  “It’s just an added bonus that this could turn his life around.  Everyone deserves a second chance, if they truly want it.”

“I don’t know if that’s true,” Draco said.

“Believe what you want and I’ll do the same.”

Suddenly Hermione realized what was going on.  “If Blaise isn’t a danger,” she began, looking at Draco, “Then you came to Gryffindor because it’s time to fix things?” 

Draco nodded.  “Yes, I need you to restore him.”

“Restore who?”  Harry asked.  Hermione took out her wand and stepped closer to him.  “What are you doing?”

“Just relax, Harry,” she said gently.

“What did you do to me?!”

“I modified your memory,” she said, “With your consent.  And now I’m going to return it to you.”  A _flick_ of her wand and Harry gasped at the sharp migraine inflating in his head.  It hurt to make room for the addition of an old memory without taking something else away.  It was a few long seconds before the pain dissipated.

Harry looked at Draco as his true memory replayed itself.

“We…” Harry started, euphoric to know they hadn’t broken up after all.  The feeling crashed hard as he realized exactly how badly he had fucked up.  “Oh god…”  Draco braced himself, building a thick wall between them, afraid to be wounded.  “I am so sorry about Ginny.”

“You thought we were broken up,” Draco hedged, “She’s a shark and you were bleeding.”  He held his breath waiting to see if Harry would leave him now that he could have her.

Harry frowned.  “She didn’t prey on me.  I wanted to feel something good—” Draco felt a flash of pain, the intensity of it leaving everything else in darkness.  “--and I didn’t care how badly it would hurt me later.  But I swear…it meant nothing.  I was smashing the eject button trying to take myself out of my life.” 

“Do you love her?”  Draco asked.

“No,” Harry said immediately.  _I love you_ – Harry finally felt ready to say it, but he wouldn’t cheapen the meaning of it by saying it for the first time as a way to win an argument.  “Draco…I only want you.”

“But you said you’re not with her because of Ron, and if he can’t really give an opinion anymore…?”

“That’s not the only reason,” Harry argued.  “It’s a big one, sure.  But the other reason is even bigger.”  Harry stepped closer.  “I don’t feel for her the way I do for you.  If you were to walk away right now, I still wouldn’t be dating her.”  He gave a small, worried smile.  “But I hope you stay.”

Draco felt relief flood through him and he struggled to keep cool.  “Good,” he said, a little smile sneaking past his cool.  Softly, he admitted, “I really want us to be okay.”

“We will be,” Harry said.  He reached forward and took Draco’s hand.  Draco felt a cascade of emotion at the touch, his wall crashing down.  He closed his eyes and held tight, wanting the world to be nothing but him and Harry clasping each other.

“Should I leave you two alone,” Hermione asked Harry, “Or are you still coming with me to see Ron?”

Draco looked up at Harry and raised his eyebrows.  “I thought Remus said--?”

“Invisibility Cloak,” Harry explained with a grin.

“Ahh.”  Draco felt irrationally jealous, wanting Harry to stay close and reassure him some more.  But he knew what happened to Ron was so much bigger, and magnanimously Draco said, “Then you should go.”

“Meet me after?”  Harry asked hopefully.

Draco smiled.  “Yeah,” he agreed softly.

A silvery horse came bounding through the stone walls. 

“Why is a Patronus here?”  Draco asked, drawing his wand in case of danger.

“It’s one of the reasons I wanna teach you to cast it,” Harry said.  “We figured out how to get them to send messages for us.” 

The horse cantered up to Hermione and stopped in front of her.  It scuffed a hoof as it began to relay its message in Ginny’s voice:  “My parents are here.  Everything’s awful.  They want to see you and Harry…Think up some excuse to come alone, because Harry can’t roll in looking like Malfoy and I didn’t know what to tell them.  Please hurry.”  At the completion of its message the horse disappeared.

Hermione looked at Harry.  “Looks like you don’t have to share the Cloak after all.”  Harry smiled at her.

“I’ll go with you,” Draco offered.  “I do a brilliant ‘Potter’ impression, as you well know, Granger.”

Hermione snorted.  “You really don’t,” she said with a smile that surprised her.  She sighed, suddenly tired.  “But honestly Malfoy, I can’t imagine Ginny wants you there.”

“What excuse could you possibly give to explain away Harry’s absence?” he argued.  “I mean look at him, he’s ready to break in.  There’s no way he wouldn’t go.  If my being there as ‘Harry’ can bring any comfort to their parents, do you really think Ginny would object?”

Hermione bit her lip.  She looked at Harry and asked, “What do you think?”

He shook his head.  “I really don’t know how she’d feel about it, but I think she’d at least recognize that it’s the smart move.  What else would we say, that I’m so impossibly sick I can’t visit _the hospital wing_?”

Hermione laughed nervously.  “I suppose you’re right,” she said.  She scanned Draco for any Slytherin paraphernalia but he had changed out of school robes into an expensive looking green sweater and black trousers. 

Draco turned to Harry.  “What do you call their parents?” He asked.  He was betting between the semi-adopted _Mum and Dad_ versus casual _Molly and Arthur._

“Mr. and Mrs. Weasley,” Harry said.

Draco was pleased.  “So there _is_ a streak of traditionalist in you!” 

“Perhaps,” Harry teased.  He drew the Cloak across his shoulders.  “Come on guys, they’re waiting for us.”

When they arrived at the hospital wing, they found Ginny sitting in front of the doors with her knees pulled to her chest.  She looked up, expecting Hermione.  She stood quickly when she saw Malfoy. 

Harry took off the Invisibility Cloak since Madam Pomfrey was still inside.  “Hey,” he said.  “Why is your hair blue?”

Self-consciously Ginny reached up and touched her hair. 

Harry realized he’d accidentally embarrassed her.  “—I mean, it looks good.”  Draco visibly tensed.  Harry turned to him.  “I mean, not like, good-good,” he tried to mollify.  Turning back to Ginny he amended, “I mean, not that it’s _not_ …I mean…” He glanced between them both, and neutrally offered, “…It suits you?”

Both Draco and Ginny couldn’t help but smile over his panic.  “At ease, soldier,” Ginny said.  Harry looked at Draco and he nodded.  Harry relaxed.  “It’s blue because that’s the only way Ron can look at me without screaming.  I have no idea why, he hasn’t minded mum or dad’s hair…” Tears leaked out and she absently brushed them away.  She concentrated on pushing through the knot in her voice.  “Thanks for coming,” she said to Harry and Hermione.  She looked at Malfoy.  “I don’t understand why you’re here,” she said bluntly.  “I’m too tired to say this nicely, so let’s just lay our cards out.  You’ve always hated my family, and you hate me extra for hooking up with Harry.  So…why are you here?”

Draco admired her forthrightness.  “Ron and I were actually becoming friends,” he said.  “I hate what’s happened to him.  I wish there was something more I could have done...and I hope at least in this one small way I can still help.”

Ginny stared at him, weighing his sincerity.  “Okay,” Ginny said.

Hermione reached forward and took Ginny’s hand.  “How are you holding up?”

Ginny’s mouth quivered.  She shook her head.  Hermione reached forward and hugged her tightly.  Ginny hugged her back; her voice much higher from the lock around her vocal cords, she said, “I’m sorry I yelled at you before…”

“Nothing to apologize for,” Hermione insisted.  “You were right, I should have talked to you…”  Ginny sniffled and pulled back, dabbing at her eyes.  “Are you okay to go in?”

“Yeah,” Ginny said, her voice wobbling.  “It’s just really hard in there.”

Hermione’s eyebrows pulled together in concern.  She put her arm around the girl.  “We’re right here with you.”  
  
“Even if some of us have to be invisible,” Harry said, “We’re here.”  He drew his Cloak around his shoulders and raised the hood over his face. 

Ginny tried to smile.  “Thanks,” she said again.  With a deep breath, she pulled open the door and led them inside.

There were two curtained off beds at opposite ends of the medic room.  Arthur and Madam Pomfrey were in the centre of the room, deep in discussion, when the teenagers walked in.  The Healer looked up and shot daggers at Draco parading in as Harry, making a mockery of visitation-consent.  “I’m sorry, _Mister Potter_ , but we have reached capacity for allowed visitors this evening.”

“My wife specifically asked for Harry and Hermione,” Arthur said in a low voice, “There is very little comfort I can make sure she gets.  I won’t have her denied.”  Arthur gave a small smile, one of politics and battle.  “I thank you for your understanding in this matter.” 

Madam Pomfrey cursed Dumbledore’s foolishness in binding the staff to the Hogwarts Secret.  Mr. and Mrs. Weasley did not deserve deception at their family’s most tragic hour.  “Of course,” she sighed in defeat.  “I’ll give you some privacy.  We can continue to discuss options at a later time.”  She retreated to her office to fill out the rest of her day’s reports.

Arthur stepped forward as the kids approached him and Ginny immediately curled into his side.  Her dad put an arm around her and gave a tight squeeze.  “Harry, Hermione,” Arthur acknowledged.  “Thank you so much for coming…”

“Of course,” Hermione said, voice thin.

“Thank you for allowing us to join you during family hours,” Draco said.

Arthur tilted his head at ‘Harry’s’ formality.  “You’re both family, you know that, right?”  Draco nodded, smiling uncertainly, feeling like he’d already fucked up when he was just trying to be polite. 

“What was Madam Pomfrey saying?”  Hermione asked.

Arthur heaved a sigh.  “She doesn’t believe Ron’s condition will degenerate further,” he began.  “But he will need special care the rest of his life.  He can’t feed himself, and he can’t walk…”  His voice cracked and he held Ginny tighter.  “Harry, I must ask you a favour.”

“Yes, of course, anything,” Draco said.  He was confident that Mr. Weasley was about to ask for financial assistance with Ron’s long-term care, and knew Harry would absolutely consent.

“I need you to thank Draco Malfoy and Vincent Crabbe for us.”

Draco felt his fingers grow cold.  “—What?”

Ginny pulled back to look her dad in the eye.  “What?!”

“Yes, darling,” Arthur said to his daughter.  “Without them, Ron would be dead.” 

Draco grit his teeth as he realized Mr. Weasley was referencing their official statements to the Healer. 

Ginny gave Draco a meaningful look. “I didn’t know…”

Draco shook his head and kept eye contact with Arthur, avoiding Ginny.  He didn’t mind lying to stay out of trouble, but he found it repellant to accept unwarranted gratitude.  “They don’t deserve ‘thanks’, they couldn’t save him.”

“Harry, it’s because of them I can still say I have seven children,” Arthur reprimanded.  “I know this is hard for you with your history with Draco Malfoy, but the least we can do is thank them.”

Draco didn’t understand.  The Malfoys and the Weasleys hated each other, how could the Weasley patriarch so quickly extend kindness to a Malfoy?  It’s not like how he and Ron had grown into their budding friendship…This was immediate, humble, grateful.  Draco knew his own father would never swallow his pride in that way.  “But he’s a Malfoy!”  Draco couldn’t help exclaim. 

“Malfoy means nothing,” Arthur said and Draco nearly swallowed his tongue.  “He and Vincent saved our son, that’s what means everything.”

Draco bowed his head.  He wondered what a dinner conversation with the man would be like.

Meanwhile, Hermione was silently impressed with Draco’s acting skills.  His arguments had sounded a lot like how Harry would have held a grudge against Malfoy.  She felt bad for deceiving Ginny, but remembered how Ron insisted she never know the truth about the Horcrux.  It may have been Ron’s last wish, before…Hermione straightened her shoulders and resolved to keep this secret.

“Wait,” Ginny interjected, “If Crabbe and Malfoy saved Ron—who cursed him?”

The warmth in Arthur’s eyes blew out and a deep freeze radiated as they flicked involuntarily to the second hospital bed.  “Blaise Zabini,” Arthur intoned.

Ginny followed her father’s gaze.  “Is he in the other bed?”

Mr. Weasley struggled with himself.  He warred between wanting to be a father to his son and rage against his attacker, and needing to be a father to his daughter and bringing her to the path of healing and forgiveness.  “He is very sick,” Arthur said.  “He lost his mind.  The Ministry is on the way to pick him up.”

Ginny felt like a giant as her heavy steps moved with the determination of gravity.

“Ginny!” Hermione cried, reaching for her arm but having Ginny jerk it back and keep walking. 

“Ginny,” Arthur admonished quietly but made no move to stop her.

Draco said nothing, silently cheering her on and hoping she’d make the biggest scene of her life.

Ginny tried to rip the curtain open but it would not budge.  She yanked and pulled but it was spelled securely in place.  “You son-of-a-bitch!” She reared back and spat at the curtain, the gob smearing slowly down.  She took out her wand and tried to break the protection charm.  There was a loud _bang!_ and embers bounced off the curtain to rain down at her feet; the curtain didn’t so much as waver.

“Ginevra, that’s enough,” Arthur said.  He couldn’t have her get in trouble with Madam Pomfrey.

Ginny wanted to try another spell, but one look at her dad’s face told her he meant it.  She impotently stormed back to their little group.  “We’re pressing charges, right?!”  She demanded of her father.

The man sighed.  “Ginny, he’s really very sick,” Arthur explained.  “He can’t be held legally responsible.  For gods sakes, he cut off his own testicles.” 

Ginny’s eyes widened and then she burst out laughing.  “Please tell me that’s real,” she said, her smile stretching her face.  “Please tell me you’re not joking!”

“It’s true,” he said.  If he had it his way, the boy would lose a lot more…Arthur steadied himself.  He had to focus on his family.  “Come on, dear,” he cajoled.  “Let’s go see your brother.”  He held out his arm to her and she gladly rushed forward to take it.  They walked together, leading their small group to the last bed opposite the windows.  Mr. Weasley drew the curtain back.

Molly was sitting in a lumpy mauve chair at the head of Ron’s bed.  Not caring a hoot about Madam Pomfrey’s warnings, Mrs. Weasley had adjusted the leather strap to release Ron’s good arm so she could hold his hand more comfortably and lift it for kisses.  He was smiling at her dreamily, his hand swinging hers back and forth in happiness. 

Hermione’s breath caught when she saw them.  She hadn’t been expecting restraints, or the slack-jawed look in Ron’s face, or the strange vowels Ron gurgled in communication.  She froze to the spot. 

“Oh, Harry!” Molly cried, beckoning with her free arm for Draco to come forward.  Draco thought about what he would do for his own mother, and quickly went and leaned down to hug her.  She gripped him back tightly and wept into his shoulder.

Ron saw the back of a figure in a green sweater block his view of his mother; Ron was disproportionately annoyed.  He let out a harassed wail and yanked his hand back. 

“Oh, sweetie…” Molly whimpered as she pulled back from ‘Harry’s’ hug to look at her son.

Ron didn’t hear her; in a sulk, he had looked away from her and let his gaze slide sideways.  His eyes lit up.

The leftover stains of necromancy lingering in Ron’s skin overpowered Death’s greatest Hallows, and Ron could see through the Cloak.  His hand shot out towards Harry in glee.  “Kitty!”  He cried, convinced he was calling Harry’s name. 

Harry was stunned.  Could Ron really see him?

“Ki-kitty!”  Ron called again, straining to reach him.

Harry took a cautious step forward and squeezed his knee, careful to stay out of reach lest Ron accidentally pull at the Cloak and reveal him. 

The contact exponentially excited Ron and his arm started flapping up and down, his eyes huge as we waved and waved to catch his friend.  Harry smiled, rubbed his hand up and down Ron’s shin, and squeezed his knee again.  Ron gave a delighted cackle.

Hermione slowly walked up to his side.  “Hey, Ron,” she said with a smile.  She put her hand out and rested it against his bicep as his arm continued to flap.  The contact got his attention and he let his arm drop and swiveled his head to look up at her.  His mouth formed a little ‘o’ shape and his face smoothed.  He reached up, but he couldn’t quite steer his arm the way he wanted it to go and he left it in midair, inching this way and that.  She took his hand and brought it up to her cheek, turning her face to kiss his palm before letting him cup her face again. 

“Glowww,” he said, wanting to tell her she was important and treasured.  There were so few words he could reach right now, having exhausted his concentration when he’d warned his sister to hide her hair and therefore herself.  There was so much he wanted to say…his mouth trembled.  He couldn’t bridle language. 

Ron suddenly grew afraid.  Things had changed too fast.  Where were his parents?!  “Mum?!” He cried, and then screamed, “ _Mum!”_   He thrashed and pulled at his restraints. 

“Sorry Harry dear—” Molly said as she nearly shoved Draco aside in her rush to return to Ron’s field of vision.  “I’m here!  Mummy’s right here,” she cooed at her youngest son.  She draped herself over Ron in the best hug she could give while he was (mostly) strapped down.  His vision swam in and out, one moment he could see her in front of him, the next all he could see was night sky and stars pricking and tearing their way through it, he could feel the fabric of the universe tearing and burning, and he screamed and screamed but could not hear himself in the void of the night. 

Arthur ached that his son didn’t call for him.  He wanted to throw himself across both his wife and his child and embrace them both, but he was afraid the action would simply squash them to the bed.  Instead, he griped Ron’s weakened hand and held it tight.  “We’re with you,” Arthur said, trying to anchor him.  He remembered what Ginny had told them about singing having a calming effect.  Arthur knew he was absolutely tone deaf but was willing to embarrass himself if it might help his youngest boy.  He sang as his knuckles paled.

“Mu…!”  Ron cried.  Somewhere past the horrifying emptiness of the sky, he could hear his father singing.  “…Da?”

Arthur didn’t care that he was an afterthought, his son still reached for him in his time of need.  He sang proudly.

Slowly, Ron’s struggles weakened and stopped.  The sky spat him back out, and he was safe in bed with his parents holding him.  He babbled a gentle prayer of gratitude composed of breath and whimpers.

His mother sat up and brushed his hair from his face.  “There’s my good boy,” she said.  “Your poor throat must be so sore.  Mummy’s going to get you some water, okay?  Be my good boy.  I’ll be just a moment okay?”  She leaned down and kissed his forehead.  Ron didn’t understand most of what she said but he took great comfort in hearing her voice.  He gave a warbly smile back at her.  She stood and went to the small table Madam Pomfrey had set up for them, with tea for the visitors and a plastic cup and straw with water for Ron.

Molly’s movement revealed the figure in the green sweater, who was now standing directly before his bed. 

Ron looked up and saw the beast. 

Ron’s face contorted in a way none of them had seen before.  Draco’s stomach lurched as he realized who—or what—Ron thought he was.  “It’s just me!” Draco tried to tell him.  “I’m your friend!  You’re safe, I swear you’re safe!”

“NO!”  Ron bellowed in rage.  His good arm free, he grabbed Draco by the collar of his sweater.  Ron jack-hammered him down, splitting his temple against the wooden armrest of the chair his mother had sat in.  “NO!”  Ron screamed again, and dragged him closer to his snarling jaws, intending to bite a chunk out of his face. 

Hermione cast a modified jelly-jinx at Ron’s arm.  His fist weakened and he involuntarily released Draco, sending the boy tumbling back.  Mr. Weasley grimaced as he bound his son’s arm down to the mattress with an _incarcerous_ charm.  “Take the kids outside and make sure Harry’s alright,” Arthur said to his wife.  “I’ll stay with Ron.”

Molly desperately wanted to hen over Ron but knew her other children needed her.  She wrapped an arm protectively around Draco’s shoulders.  “You heard him,” Molly instructed the teenagers brusquely.  “Out we go!”  Hermione and Ginny followed them while Harry stayed silently at Ron’s side. 

The curtains closed behind them and they could no longer hear Ron’s cries.

“Alright, now let me look at that,” Molly insisted, tilting Draco’s chin so she could see the wound at his temple.  She was surprised when he didn’t argue or flinch from her touch.  Luckily, the wound was superficial despite bleeding rather impressively.  She sighed in relief and cast a healing spell, then cleaned the blood.  “I’m so sorry Harry,” she said, and Draco had never seen an adult so openly display guilt.  “Madam Pomfrey warned me he could be violent, but I couldn’t imagine my little Ronnie would—” her breath hitched.  “I am so sorry Harry.”

“It’s not your fault Mrs. Weasley,” Draco assured her.  “He and I had a fight before he was cursed…he must remember being angry with me.”

“Now you listen here, Harry James Potter,” she said, stern and maternal.  “Ron loves you.  You are his family, forever.  How he’s acting right now, that’s just the broken pieces confusing things.  It’s not about you.  He could react the same way to any of us.  Do you understand?”  Without waiting for an answer she hugged him fiercely.  “It’s not you, sweetie.  You can’t take it personally.”

“Frankly,” Ginny said, “I’m glad I’m not the only person he’s had a weird reaction with.”  She twirled a finger around her blue hair to make her point.

Molly gave a choked little laugh and pulled back.  “You three should get back to Gryffindor Tower.  It’s getting late.”

“ _Mom_ it’s not even curfew!” Ginny whined. 

“It’s been a long day.”

“I want to stay!”

“Ginevra this is not open for discussion.  Your brother needs his rest!”

“Let me say goodnight!”  Ginny bickered.  “Just five more minutes!”

Draco would never dream of arguing with his own parents so brazenly, and in public no less.  He was embarrassed for them both and expected Mrs. Weasley to punish her.  Instead, Mrs. Weasley pursed her lips and argued. “Dear, he’s no longer in a state for visiting.  He’s had his maximum dose of Calming Draught for a day.  He must have been over-stimulated with so many visitors…In the future we should probably keep it to two or three at a time.”

“I agree.  You, Dad, and I make three.”

“I said this is not up for discussion!” Molly snapped.  “ _Finite._ ”  Ginny’s hair returned to normal.

“ _Mom!”_ Ginny squealed in outrage.  She didn’t know the spell to change it back to blue. 

“I’m sorry this visit had to be cut short,” Mrs. Weasley said to Draco and Hermione.  “Perhaps tomorrow Ron will be in a better temperament.  I do hope you’re not scared-off from visiting.”

“Not at all,” Draco assured her.

“Of course not,” Hermione agreed.  She gave a sympathetic look to Ginny. 

Mrs. Weasley held out her arms and hugged ‘Harry’, then Hermione, but when she turned to her daughter Ginny sulkily folded her arms and glared instead. 

“I can’t believe you wouldn’t even let me say good night to him,” Ginny said.  She turned and hurried out the door, slamming it behind her as she left. 

Mrs. Weasley’s lips trembled and she stared at the door for a moment, a swelling in her heart.  She dabbed daintily at her eyes with the frilled edge of her sleeve.  “I’d better go check on Ron,” she said, and tried to offer a smile to the children.

Draco and Hermione awkwardly smiled back and said goodnight.  As they left, Draco held the door open longer than necessary, thinking Harry would need to slip through. 

Once the door closed, Hermione and Draco waited a beat in silence before realizing Harry hadn’t come with them.  Hermione looked down the hallway, hoping to catch a glimpse of Ginny.  “They left me,” she said uncomprehending.  “They both left me alone to deal with this?”

“I’m sure they both thought the other would be here,” Draco said.

Hermione took a shuddering breath.  “Forget it, it’s not your problem.”  She turned and started walking down the hall.

“Granger,” Draco called.  She stopped and peered back at him.  He took slow thoughtful steps towards her as he said, “The violence that befell Blaise, questions about what will happen to him next – I’m not exactly eager to be left alone with my thoughts right now.  Why don’t we stay busy together?”

Hermione looked skeptical.  “You want us to hang out?”

“We can do something productive.  Ron keeps staring at the ceiling, yeah?  Let’s put together something he can look at up there.”

She felt moved that he would think of something like that.  “Something gentle, colourful,” she mused. 

“How about flowers?”

“That’d be good, except it’s winter and the only plants in the Herbology greenhouse are dangerous.”

“The Hufflepuff common room has a communal garden,” Draco told her.  “They plant for beauty, food, or psychedelics.  I’m sure they’d donate some flowers if we asked.”

She nodded and they walked together.  “How do you know about the Hufflepuff common room?”

Draco grinned.  “Do you remember Stanton Miles?  He graduated last year.”

“Uh-huh,” Hermione said.  Stanton had been one of the hottest guys in Hogwarts.  Oh yes, Hermione remembered him.

“Well…”  Draco let it hang.

Hermione raised her eyebrows.  “What, you and _Stanton_?!”

Draco made a calculated decision and decided to tell her the truth.  “It never went further than snogging, but yeah.  We got real friendly for a while last year.”

“How on earth did that happen?”  Hermione blurted out.  She flushed.  “I mean, you’re _you._   And he’s nice.”

Draco put a hand over his heart and gave a dramatic stagger.  “You wound me!”

“You know what I mean.  He was a Hufflepuff, they’re all about being fair.  And you still use the ‘m’ word.”

“About that,” Draco started, hesitating.  This was the perfect time to ask her, but he hadn’t had time to figure out the perfect way to ask.  He felt adrenaline hiccupping its way through his veins.  Although unprepared, he would not let a solid opportunity go to waste.  “I’m working on eliminating that word from my usage.  I’ve been learning differently about the role muggleborns have with magic itself, and I realized we need each other.  Purebloods and muggleborns.”  He paused to gauge her reaction; she kept an impressively neutral expression which frustrated Draco immensely.  “The thing is, I’m never going to be 100% okay with muggleborns if I’m not okay with muggles.  But the only things I know about muggles are monstrous.  I’ve grown up listening to portraits of my long-dead ancestors tell me how they were tortured or killed at the hands of muggles.  I’ve heard countless stories of their barbarism.”  He realized he had to soften his anger if he were to gain her sympathy. “They terrify me,” he admitted in a whisper.  His hands had clenched at some point in this conversation and he consciously forced them to relax.  “I need your help.”

“I don’t know how I could help with something like this,” Hermione said gently.

“I need someone who can teach me about muggles.  Not Harry,” he said quickly.  “He only sees the best in everyone, and I need reliable truth, not fanciful ideals.  Besides…I don’t want him to know how much I’m trying.  Not when I could fail.  I need this to be a secret until it’s worked, until I can at least fractionally accept muggles.”

Hermione understood better than anyone the fear of having others see you fail.  “You say you want the truth about muggles,” she began.  “Some of it is ugly.  Just as some of wizarding history is ugly.  But if I were to help you, you can’t be lazy and just collect confirmation bias.  You’d have to really work.”

“That’s what I want,” he agreed.  “But that doesn’t mean I won’t fuck up plenty.  You can’t give up on me when it’s hard.”

“This undertaking you’re suggesting, it’s going to need rules.”

“I agree.”

Hermione nodded.  “I’ll draft something up and we can go over it together.”

Draco felt like he’d just successfully pulled off the Wronski Feint.  “You mean it?  You’ll help me?”

Hermione faux-innocently quoted Harry, “Everyone deserves a second chance if they truly want it.”

Draco rolled his eyes.  “Great Morgana, are you going to be this insufferable as a teacher?”

“Worse.”

Draco suddenly doubted the wisdom of his great plan. 

The staircase they were approaching shuddered and groaned, signaling its intent to swing away from its current position.  Draco stopped, planning a new route, when Hermione raced ahead and leapt onto the landing.  “Come on!”  She called to him as the stairs began to shift away.   
  
_Bloody Gryffindors._

Draco took a breath and took a running leap, grabbing the handrail frantically to make sure he didn’t tumble down the moving stairs.  He gave Hermione a dirty look.  “We could have gone another way.”

“But this way makes the most sense.”

“ _Not when reaching it means leaping across a four story drop!”_

“You made it, you’re fine.”

Draco sulked, staring over the bannister.

Hermione let him have his moment, uncaring about the silence that fell between them.  Silence had never bothered her.

She waited until the staircase came to a complete stop and they stepped onto the platform of the second floor.  “I’m worried about the Ministry getting involved with everything,” she said.

Draco shrugged.  “It’s an open-and-shut case for them, surely they can’t fuck it up.”

“But what if Blaise tells them he never cursed Ron?”

“The way Sirius Black swore he didn’t murder those twelve muggles and betray his friends?”  Draco scoffed.  “The Ministry isn’t interested in the truth, they’re interested in convenience.”

“But if they check your wand with Prior Incantato?” she pressed worriedly.

“The beast didn’t use my wand,” Draco said.  “It cast wandlessly, and that can’t be tracked.”  Draco’s breath hitched as an idea struck him.  “Unless…”  He stopped walking as the idea demanded his entire focus.

“What?”  Hermione asked, stopping next to him.

“Granger,” Draco murmured, the idea coming to full fruition as a theory.  “I’m a genius!”  He turned to face her.  “Fuck the flowers.  We’re gonna save Ron.”

Hermione felt her heart stutter, hope and doubt competing for the beat.  “How?”

“Go to the library,” Draco said.  “Get everything you can on Prior Incantato, and get a translated copy of The Offering Blade by Andranik Adontz.  Meet me in the Room of Requirement as soon as you get them.” 

“Where are you going?!”

Draco grimaced.  “There’s something I have to get.”

*

Draco stepped into the owlry and felt like a criminal.  He looked around at the owls, hooting, preening, or shitting, and wished they would all fly away and save themselves.  He walked slowly down the length of the owlry, ignoring the student-specific birds and focusing on the plenty of generic Hogwarts-hired ones.  He needed an average specimen, one that would not be noticed or missed if taken. 

A stocky, medium-sized Tawny owl perched on her own.  Draco could not distinguish her as having a memorable character.  “I’m sorry,” he said to the animal.  “Stupefy.”  He cradled the frozen, fallen bird and made his way to meet Hermione.

*

Hermione felt sick when Draco entered the Room of Requirement with an owl in his arms.  “Malfoy,” she asked warningly.

“Do you want me to practice directly in Ron’s brain?  Or do you want me to know what I’m doing in there?”

She paled, her eyes flicking to the helpless bird.  “But…what are you going to do?”

“ _We_ ,” Draco emphasized, unwilling to be the sole bearer of blame, “are going to recreate Ron’s condition to best determine how to reverse it.”

“…we’re going to torture her.”

Shame curdled in Draco’s gut.  “Yes,” he admitted softly.  “But then we will fix her.”

“Absolutely not,” Hermione protested.

“Fine,” Draco spat.  “We’ll break our backs doing the research and then strut into the hospital wing and cross our fingers, is that the plan?”  Hermione wavered.  Draco pressed on, “If this works, she’ll be okay after.”

“Traumatized is hardly okay.”

“She’ll recover.  And more importantly, so will Ron.”

“And if it doesn’t work?”

“Then we’ll have failed the animal, but Ron will be safe.”

Hermione looked into the owl’s eyes, its intelligent almost-human eyes.  She sat down at the worktable the Room had conjured.  “I brought the books,” she said, her voice scratching with regret.

Draco sat opposite her and pulled The Offering Blade towards him.  “This book is a phenomenal guide for blood magic,” he explained.  “I know the pure-blood descriptions by heart of course.  But in Harry’s body, I’m a half-blood, so I’ll need to re-read those sections.”  Draco looked up at Hermione and caught her scowling.  “Don’t get twitchy about it, Granger,” Draco said.  “Blood magic is different between muggleborns, half-bloods, half-breeds, and pure-bloods.  That’s just how it is.  It’s like how men have more upper body strength and women’s hips are shaped differently.  Nothing political in it.”

“Fine,” Hermione conceded, pulling another book towards her.  “What am I looking for in here?”

“Ways to slow, freeze, copy, or reverse the echo produced by Prior Incantato.”

The two worked steadily in silence for hours.  They discussed the key sections they’d found, building a new spell from the theories they’d grafted.  They worked well together, arguing critically and constructively, each impressed with the additions the other considered.

“I think we have it,” Draco said nervously.  He didn’t want to do what they had to do next.

“I think we do too,” Hermione agreed.  She couldn’t look at the owl, who laid frozen pitifully on the floor beside the table.

“I guess I shouldn’t use this,” Draco laid his wand solemnly on the table.  “If it’s going to be as close to Ron’s condition as possible.”

“Wait…”

“Granger, we talked about this.”

“I should do it.”

Draco was shocked.  “What?  Why?”

Hermione took a deep breath and hoped to god Draco could argue her out of this.  “How much magic have you cast wandlessly since the beast cursed Ron?” 

“Nothing,” Draco said.  “Seven wanded spells, but nothing wandless.”

Hermione grit her teeth.  “Seven wanded is already a lot,” she said.  “We need the….relevant magic performed…to be as close to the surface as possible.  If you start casting now for the testing, you’ll be burying what we need further back.  And that might make it more challenging to reach when we need it.”

“You don’t have the Switch’s powers, you won’t be able to heal her.”

“But if the test works, it will show me how.  I won’t have the power to perform it, but it’ll still show me.  And that’s all we need for you to save Ron.”  Hermione looked at him with pleading eyes.  “Tell me I’m wrong.”

Draco lowered his eyes.  They sat in silence, each wrestling their conscience.  Finally, Hermione stood up.  “Okay…” She quickly wiped the corners of her eyes.  “Okay.”

She held out her wand and charmed a slender chain to cuff around the owl’s leg and secure it to the ground.  She couldn’t have the poor thing flying everywhere… She steadied herself.  “ _Finite,_ ” she cast, allowing the owl to regain movement.  She lowered her wand and looked to Draco for encouragement. 

“For Ron,” he said.

She nodded.  “Ron.”  She let the tears gather and burn.  She faced the bird once more and raised her wand.  Her hand trembled.

“You have to mean it,” Draco reminded her.  “Or the spell won’t work.”

“I know,” she whispered.  After three tries, she successfully cast the cruciatus curse.  The bird screeched and writhed.  The curse instantly stopped as Hermione lost her will.

“You have to keep it going for at least five minutes…it has to break her.”

“I know, I’m sorry, I just…god, I can’t…”

“Yes you can,” Draco said.  “You have to.”

“I need a minute,” Hermione said, and the Room instantly provided a door for Hermione to escape through while still remaining inside the Room of Requirement. 

Draco waited.  The bird was desperately flying, straining at its shackle until its ankle bled.  It cried in panic.  Draco closed his eyes, trying in vain to block out the animal’s suffering.

Hermione returned after five minutes.  “ _Finite,_ ” she cast at the chain.  She swung open the main door and let the bird fly out.

“What are you doing?!”  Draco asked angrily, relief flooding through him.

“What I should have done before,” Hermione said.  “Testing is pointless.  It won’t be exact because its not a human brain.”

“Testing significantly reduces our margin for error!” 

“I know you’re scared of failing Ron,” Hermione said.  “I know we could really hurt him.  But…How much worse can he possibly get from how he is now?”

“He still recognizes us,” Draco said.  “He still yearns to interact.  He can still feel happiness, which is remarkable all by itself after what he’s endured.  We could destroy all of that!”

Hermione gulped, afraid she’d done the wrong thing by releasing the owl.  “You and I have come at this thing from every angle.  Do you honestly believe we’ve missed something?”

Draco considered.  “It feels like we haven’t,” he answered cautiously, “But this is unlike anything I’ve ever done before.  I could so easily be wrong.  We could be wrong.”

She took his hand imploringly.  “We’ll figure it out, if it’s wrong.  We’ve come this far.  We can do this.”

Draco shook his head.  “This is extremely advanced magic…”

“And you and I are the brightest in this whole damn school.”

“Which means our fuckups would be so much worse than anyone else’s.”

“Draco,” Hermione said, dropping his surname.  “We got this.”

Draco swallowed.  “Okay,” he said, trying to soak up her confidence.  “We got this.”

It was two in the morning.  If Mr. and Mrs. Weasley hadn’t gone home, they’d surely be asleep.  Hermione cast disillusionment charms on herself and Draco and they slunk through the shadows toward the hospital wing.

Filch and Mrs. Norris had their hands (and paws) full chasing down a crazed owl someone had let loose inside the castle.  Hermione and Draco made it to the hospital wing without incident.

The bed Blaise had occupied was now empty.  Draco shivered at the implications.  He and Hermione crept toward Ron’s bed.  Hearts pounding, afraid of getting caught, they drew back the curtain.

Mr. Weasley’s glasses were on the side table, as were Mrs. Weasley’s mittens, and both their brooms were propped up against the wall.  However, Madam Pomfrey must have offered them a room to stay in overnight as neither of them were present. 

Harry was passed out in a chair at Ron’s side, his chest against the bed and his head resting on Ron’s leg, the invisibility cloak having fallen off him and covering only part of the armrest and some of his lap.

Draco smiled fondly at his idiot boyfriend.  He gently shook his shoulder.  “Wake up, angel-prat,” Draco whispered. 

Harry jolted awake and relaxed when he saw Draco smiling at him.  “Hey,” he murmured sleepily.  “What are you doing here?”

Hermione cast a modified Lumos charm meant to give gentle illumination.  Ron stirred at the light, frowning in his sleep.

"Nothing short of saving the day,” Draco bragged, nervous and afraid and quite possibly ready to throw up.

Harry sat up, instantly alert.  “What do you mean?”  He was afraid to hope for too much.

Hermione put her hand on Harry’s shoulder.  “We’re gonna bring him back.”

Harry felt fireworks explode in his chest.  “How?”

Hermione and Draco shared a look.  “The short version,” Hermione began, knowing Harry couldn’t follow the complex theories behind their work, “is that the cruciatus curse used against Ron is in Draco’s blood—which means the pattern that broke his mind is recorded, move-for-move.  If we get the pattern to reveal itself, Draco will know how to connect the broken pieces.  With the Switch he could always force them to re-bond together, the problem was knowing what goes where.” 

Harry stood up.  “Is there anything I can do?”

“Just make sure I’m not interrupted,” Draco said.  He glanced at Hermione.  “You got the--?”

Before he could finish the question, Hermione handed him the small blade they’d transfigured from one of her quills.

“Thanks,” he said, taking the knife.  He sat next to Ron on the bed and gave a series of light slaps against Ron’s cheek.  “Wake up, buddy.”  Ron’s eyes opened and he howled and bucked against his restraints.  Draco recited words of offering as he made a cut on the inside of his forearm.  He hastily put the blade aside while Hermione put both her hands to either of Ron’s temples, forcing his head to be still.  Draco dipped his fingers into the rising blood, using it like paint to draw across Ron’s forehead.  Ron’s squeezed his eyes shut, screaming and snarling.  “I need eye contact,” Draco said.  Hermione’s mouth set in determination and she used her thumbs to pry open Ron’s eyelids.  The whites of his eyes were overly-expansive as he was forced to look at the image of his killer.  Draco chanted the newly invented, distorted version of Prior Incantato he and Hermione had built while simultaneously slipping into Ron’s mind. 

Everything was electric white, dangerous flashes bursting at random all around him.  The blood on Ron’s forehead absorbed into his mind, called by Draco’s magic and intent, and presented itself as the spell designed it to.  It looked like a red inkpot tipped into the bathwater, ribbons of velvet swirls leading the way through the expanse.  Draco followed as it led him to the first break, two frayed impulses floating with static charged around them.  He focused all his will to heal them back together. 

It wasn’t working.

Draco started to panic.  What was he doing wrong?!  He knew they should have done a test first!  He swallowed the panic and tried to think methodically.  Using his magic, he took hold of one nerve ending.  He saw that the inner cords had withdrawn inside the shaft, curled up like a cut tendon.  He coaxed them to stretch out again, and repeated the process to the second nerve ending.  The white-hot sizzle of each nerve cooled and healed as the tendrils reached towards each other and melded into one.

Draco followed the red ribbons of the blood pattern, reattaching dozens of impulses, until he found a set that were so frayed that they would not re-connect.  He struggled for a long time trying to fix them, but couldn’t figure out how to do it.  Eventually, he left them and continued his path to try to fix the rest.  He bonded hundreds, but in the end there were three sets of nerves he couldn’t reattach.  Draco examined the terrain anew; Ron’s mind was no longer a shapeless, white plain.  He had regained the familiar caverns and valleys and the typical dark colouring with highlighted areas.  The lightning flashes were gone.

Trembling and exhausted, Draco withdrew from Ron’s mind.  _Three sets,_ Draco berated himself, hating himself for failing. 

Ron blinked. 

Draco held his breath and stared into Ron’s eyes.  “What’s your name?” 

A pause.  “Ron,” the boy whispered.  “Ron Weasley.”

Hermione put her hands over her mouth and felt tears of relief slide hot down her face.

“Do you know where you are?”  Draco asked.

A longer pause.  Ron strained to remember the name of this place, but couldn’t seem to grasp it.  “School,” he answered.  “Hospital wing.”  He stared intensely at Draco as he tried to figure something out.  “Why…” he found the question difficult to gather.  “Your eyes.  Are grey?”

“…You think my eyes are grey?”

Ron didn’t understand the question.  “I don’t think, I see.  They’re grey.  Why?”

“How about Harry’s eyes, what colour are they?”  Draco motioned Harry to step closer. 

Harry complied, smiling at Ron.  “Hey,” he said.

Ron looked at Harry’s eyes, then over his head, and grinned.  “Yeah,” he said distractedly.  Harry waited for more of an answer.  Ron looked back at Harry’s eyes and tried to look serious as he looked back at Draco.  “Green eyes.  And.”  The grin boom-a-ranged back into place.  “White cat ears.”

Harry laughed.  “Kitty, right?”

Ron grinned back at Harry.  “Kitty.  Yes.”

“Why Kitty?”  Harry asked.

Ron struggled.  “…Just are.”  He looked back at Draco.  “Let me out?”

Draco stood up and began undoing the straps.  Hermione whispered, “Why is he hallucinating?  And speaking funny?”

“I couldn’t get everything to work.”

“What do you mean, you couldn’t get everything to work?!”

As the two bickered, Harry distracted Ron.  “What else do you see?”

Ron teased, “Bell.  Collar.”

“Now you’re just making shit up.”

Ron laughed.  “Make Malfoy happy, you wear.”

“Not a chance,” Harry shot back playfully.

“Ginny…” Ron paused.  “Was her hair?  Was it blue?  That real?”

“Yeah, she made it blue when she was visiting,” Harry explained.

Ron sighed.  “Good…”  The humour left his eyes and he looked hard at Harry.  “You.  My sister.  _What._ ”

Harry winced.  He did not want to have this conversation with Draco in the same room, and he didn’t want to have this conversation when Ron was having so much trouble communicating.  But apparently, the conversation was happening…  “That was a mistake,” he said quietly.  “I’m sorry.”

“She crush years you,” Ron said furiously.

“I know,” Harry lamented.

“You know,” Ron repeated bitterly.  “You love?”

Harry lowered his eyes, ashamed.  “No,” he admitted.  “I don’t love her like that.”

“You bad,” Ron said.  “You know.  You no love.  You…”  He couldn’t find the words, his thoughts bubbling under his tongue.  “That so bad!”

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” Harry said.  “I’ll talk to her.  I’ll apologize, I’ll make it right.”

Ron stared at Harry.  “Bad Kitty.”

For a split second Harry thought Ron was teasing him again, but the look in his eyes showed he was legitimately trying to express his anger.  “I’m sorry.”

“You hurt me.”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“You want?  Before??”

“I want what?”  Harry asked, unsure what Ron was trying to say.

“You want my sister?  Before?”

Harry hesitated.  Ron made a grunting growling noise of exasperation.  “I’m sorry!” Harry repeated.  “I started noticing her at the end of last year, like that.”

Draco shushed Hermione and began listening in.

Harry was keenly aware that Draco had tuned into their discussion and he was so embarrassed.  “I told myself nothing would ever come of it.  Because I’d never want to jeopardize our friendship.  And then…I was stupid, and weak, and I did a stupid weak thing.”

Ron pursed his lips.  “Done?”

“Yeah, it’s over, it won’t ever happen again.”

Ron nodded.  “Okay.”  He smiled.

Harry looked disbelieving at his friend.  “Okay?”

“Okay,” Ron repeated.  “All done.”

“…are you still mad at me?”

Ron tried a dozen different ways to phrase reassurances that their friendship was stronger than anything, but the words just swam away from him.  He struggled, and finally surrendered to his own limitations and simply said, “Good Kitty.”

Harry smiled.  “Thank you.”

Ron looked at Draco, and wondered how he conquered the beast.  “Malfoy,” he said, “Welcome back.”

Draco smiled.  “Yeah, you too.”

“How?  You win?”

Undoing the last restraint, Draco helped Ron sit up.  “Professor Snape saved me,” Draco said.  “How’s your left arm?  Can you move it?”

Ron raised his arm, flexed his hand.  “No problem.”

“That’s good,” Draco said.  “Okay, let’s review.  Linguistics are damaged.  Vision is a bit damaged.  There should be a third thing that’s not quite right…”

Ron frowned.  “Lin-giss…what?” 

“Linguistics,” Draco repeated.  Ron shook his head.  “Vocabulary.  Words.”

“Words,” Ron agreed.  “Are hard.  I…I know I’m not speaking well.”

“You’re doing great,” Hermione reassured him.

“Her-my-own-knee,” Ron said slowly, taking great pain to get it right.  He held out his arms and she rushed into them.  He held her tightly.  “So glad…seeing you.  Liar.”  He laughed into her hair.  “I know I’m speaking not good.  I know.  I don’t know why so hard.”

“Maybe the third was just another linguistics nerve…” Draco mused aloud.

“Can we fix it?”  Harry asked.

Draco looked at him with a helplessness in his eyes.  “I couldn’t figure it out,” he whispered.  “They were almost burned out.  But maybe, with just the three sets in there, maybe a psyche-diver could heal him?”

“Try,” Ron said as Hermione pulled away from him.  “Ready.”

“Not so fast, tiger,” Draco chided.  “It’s like, two in the morning.”

“More like three,” Hermione corrected.

“What?!”  Draco swiveled to look at her.

“You were in there a long time,” she said.

Draco was stunned. 

“Words bad me, time bad you,” Ron said with a laugh.  “Excuse?”

“Shut up,” Draco said.  “My excuse is I was saving your sorry hide.”

“Nice job, smooth, good,” Ron teased and gave an overly enthusiastic thumbs up.

"Hey, at least you aren’t staring at the ceiling!”

_The ceiling._   Ron slowly looked up, afraid to fall into the sky once again.  But it wasn’t the sky this time; instead, he saw a beautiful swirling portal, like an upside down whirlpool.  It was hypnotic.  He smiled and stared.

“Hey, cut that out,” Draco admonished.

“What do you see up there?”  Hermione asked.

_Possibility_ , Ron wanted to convey, but the word was lost to him.  “Colours and movement,” he said.  “It’s pretty.”  He tore his eyes away and looked at Hermione.  “You’re prettier.”  She blushed.  Ron took her hand.  “When I’m fixed,” he said, “We do—we go date.  Something special.”

Hermione smiled.  “I’d like that.”

“Alright, lovebirds,” Draco interrupted.  “What explanation are we handing out in the morning?  Or do we claim ignorance and say it’s a miracle?”

“Min-Min-” Ron almost had the word ‘Ministry’ but it dissolved on his tongue.  He huffed in frustration.  “Last year.  When we fought the bad.”  He rolled up his sleeves to reveal the long purple scars on his arms.  “Brains got me.  We say protection.”

Harry nodded.  “That could totally work.”

“I’m glad you understood that, because I didn’t,” Draco admitted.

“When we fought in the Department of Mysteries last year, Ron was attacked by one of their Thought experiments, a tank of floating brains.  They gave him those scars.  He’s saying we can claim that attack left some sort of side-effect in him that gave protection against a permanent loss of sanity.  And because it was a freaking Department of Mysteries experiment, they can’t rule out the possibility and we won’t be expected to explain it perfectly _._ ”

“Damn, Ron, you’re good,” Draco said.

“Guys,” Hermione said, “Since they’re probably going to send Ron to St. Mungo’s as soon as they wake up and check on him, can you give us a minute alone?”

“Sure thing,” Harry said.  He squeezed Ron’s shoulder.  “I’m glad you’re back.”

“Me too,” Ron said.  “Good night, Kitty.”

“Good night,” Harry said back, grinning that his best friend was going to be okay.

“G’night,” Draco said to Ron, then turned to Hermione.  “Thanks for everything.”

“You too,” she said softly.  They shared a secret smile of relief and triumph.

As Harry and Draco snuck out of the hospital wing, Harry said bravely, “You know, that idea of a special date…I think that’s something we should do, too.”

Draco smiled.  “Yeah…you owe me.”

“Yeah, I do,” Harry agreed.  “Tomorrow night?”

“It’s a date.” 


End file.
